(a/n: I was seriously going to let this story stand as it was, and then I recieved a review today asking that I please update. So, Sarah, this is for you. Maybe I'll actually finish this someday if people keep nagging me on. ;)
For The Asking
There is a time in the morning where dream and reality pass each other and become one; when the secrets of night become the waking dreams of early morn. Light slowly pierces the mist, giving the world an iridescent gray sheen that lasts only a few short hours before clearing against the full rising of the sun. The world rests in these hours, allowing those who dream to pass the threshold into reality in one perfect moment of quietude.
Briseis watched the creeping mists of morning cloy their way into the tent before slowly dissipating with the warmth of the sunlight. In this time it was easy to imagine herself back at her father's house, wrapped in the comfort of her own bed, sheltered from all that strove to surmount the walls of Troy. If she closed her eyes and focused her ears on the rolling tide, she could imagine the vista of the city from her stone patio. Troy- spread before her like a great riverbed dotted with smooth, pale rocks, and beyond that, the dark gray line of the Aegean.
Achilles moved against her back, pressing his chest against her shoulder blades and resting his chin upon her shoulder. Briseis felt the dream pass from her mind, to be replaced by the warm comfort of her lover's body. As she relaxed against his chest she felt the memories of the past month slowly pass through her mind with a smooth, ripple-like quality, each memory growing into others gently.
He would return at night, his shoulders bleeding where the straps of his armor had dug deeply into the flesh, his body coated in a sticky paste of dirt, blood, and sweat; face furrowed and always drawn in sorrows Briseis could neither touch nor ease. She came to see and understand his vulnerability during those moments when he came back from battle- physical and mental exhaustion were etched in his face as he neither spoke nor heard others speak. At these times he was lost even to Briseis, and even in her fear for those Trojans he had killed, she found pity strengthened by an ever-growing devotion that helped her gather and clean his armor where he left it abandoned on the sand floor. On one such night, Achilles had noticed this custom of hers and quietly commented upon it.
"I do not ask that you clean the blood of your Trojans from my armor." Briseis slowly stopped her scrubbing, each hand pink up to the wrist. She turned her eyes to Achilles, his own watching her with self loathing filling their every shadow.
"In this way I pay homage to those I love." He understood the quiet meaning of her words, though they did nothing save deepen the crease of his brow. Though he did not know why, he felt his eyes move toward his hands, their calloused, roughened hills and valleys rising to meet his gaze with stubborn refusal to be forgotten for what they were. The hands of a warrior, not a lover.
"I spare no love for anyone. My life is manifest in dealing death. Your love is wasted on me." Briseis said nothing, but the soft noise of her cleaning did not pause as Achilles laid down, his eyes turned to the wall.
-
The army had not returned for many days, and Briseis had seen nothing of Achilles, nor the Myrmidon soldiers, save those left to guard her. She passed these hours in tormented thought, even her walks along the now blackened beaches of the Aegean gave her none of their usual pleasure. What should happen were Troy to fall? What should happen if it did not?
Somewhere amidst the din of her memories stood two opposing forces, grappling for control her heart. On one shore stood Achilles, his tall figure clad in armor that shamed the dullness of the sun; the other side was occupied by her family, friends, her past. One could not suffer the other's presence- one would have to be driven out. The thought of living with neither brought a tightness to Briseis' throat, but she had long decided never again to suffer the weakness of tears.
There was something wholly peaceful about the Aegean, despite its ever restless ebb and flow. Briseis breathed in deeply, allowing the thick, salty air to coat her lungs and fill her mouth. She darted her tongue across her lips, tasting the thin layer of salt that had gathered there- it was the taste of her memories- the taste of home. Every pore opened to the warm autumn breeze, its slightly cooler chill heralding the approach of winter to the Trojan lands.
In many ways, she already knew what her decision would be; should she be forced to make it. It had been decided many days ago, when, lying in Achilles' arms, she had seen in his eyes the man he desired to be. Free from the shackles of his fate, his destiny bound to no one's shoulders, save his own. No longer a pawn moving across a board visible only to the Gods, but simply a man who wanted nothing more than a life bereft of weighty prophecy and ominous destiny. She could see- not his love, but his desire to love, which served to endear him within the quiet, secret places of her heart. Places hitherto left to silence and prayer- corners she had not even known of until he had taken her into the fold of his arms.
Suddenly, there arose a cry, thunderous and terrible to hear. It rolled, gathering strength across the land until it broke over the sand embankment and crashed against Briseis' ears. She shuddered against its weight. It were as though the entire Achaean army had bellowed forth in absolute rage.
Sharp spikes of ice mercilessly pounded down the length of her spine, coming to rest in the small of her back. Something horrible had happened- and yet it was something more…something had happened to Achilles. Her flesh crawled in waves so violent she shuddered and suddenly felt very unsteady upon her own legs.
-
Achilles' eyes were so filled with rage that the world spread before him only in matte grays and blacks. His vision had been reduced to a single, finite point. His thoughts entertained nothing save hatred- its thick blackness pouring through every vein in his body, pumping through his heart so savagely the pulse of its effort was all that filled his ears.
Hector. Hector. Hector.
The name was a poison that fueled the fire of his fury. Hector. He would wander the Underworld without his eyes- forced to beg amongst the braggarts and murderers who lined the bank of the river Styx. Hector would die upon his blade, and when the fallen prince lay covered in the dust of his wretched homeland- Achilles would take his body for his prize. Let no honor be awarded to the prince, even in death.
He came into the tent without fully realizing where he was- only knowing that tomorrow, tomorrow he would kill the Prince of Troy. Hector's chest would meet in full the blade of Achilles, his eyes would meet Achilles' and see only his own death in their depths.
Briseis felt every breath of air leave her lungs in a rush, and wondered in a passing thought if she would ever breathe again. Achilles suddenly turned to where she sat, a momentary hatred passing in front of his eyes before he recognized her form. She remained motionless, the tangible hate he had let slip from his eyes humbling her into a terror even Agamemnon could not have inspired. For the first time since coming into his hold, she truly feared for her life. Achilles broke his stare, turning his eyes into the basin of water at the foot of his bed.
Briseis made no motion to move toward him as he pulled and tugged at the leather straps that held his armor in place. With violent shrugs he threw his breastplate and armbands into the ground, managing to bury them even in the well-tamped sand of the tent floor. As she had always done, Briseis moved to pick up his armor so that she might take it to the Aegean and wash it clean.
Achilles moved so quickly she had hardly a moment to react. With a roughness she had never known before from his hands, Achilles grabbed both of her wrists and hauled her up to his face.
"Leave those!" His voice shook with rage, harrowing Briseis to the bone. Her legs gave out beneath her in her sudden terror, and with an angry thrust, Achilles spun her about and threw her out of the tent. Briseis' feet tangled together and she toppled face-forward into the sand just outside of the doorway. The ground rose up to meet her, scoring the length of her cheeks and lips, leaving the quick and familiar taste of blood against her tongue. Her eyes stung instantly as they filled with sand and grit.
Not daring to remain near Achilles, Briseis shakily pushed herself up and ran blindly as fast as her trembling legs would allow. She stopped where the Aegean lapped the shoreline, wishing for a brief moment that she could simply throw herself into those waters and let them carry her outward and away- away from this accursed shore- away from this life. She weakly collapsed to her knees. It was some time before she even realized that her lips and cheeks were bleeding, along with the heels of both her palms. But she was too frightened for tears, too horrified for pain. Her mind was consumed only by Achilles' eyes- black with hatred.