:Summary: Cassandra, daughter of Priam and sister to Hector and Paris, is blessed with seeing what is to come, but cursed to never be believed. Thought mad by her own people, can an enemy become more when he alone seems to believe what no one else will? Achilles/OC. Movie Canon.

:Disclaimer: I do not own 'Troy' or any of the characters associated with the film or the writings pertaining to it in any way. I technically don't even own my OC – All I have is individual events that make up this story.

SPECIAL THANKS TO REVIEWERS

Sorry this took so long to get out, guys…

Chapter Four

Her immediate reaction was confusion. Confusion as to what had happened, where she was, and how she got there. Her head was swimming and her temple pulsed like she'd been struck across the side of her head, and as things began to come back together she realized that she probably had been. Her vision cleared slowly and blurred blotches of color took shape – sand and a bed of furs, armor, the distinct presence of a man in every corner of the enclosed space. The canvas smelled like smoke and the heat from the sun that warmed it outside, but it was cool within and the sand under her folded legs chilled her skin.

A frown engulfed her face as she tried to think back, wondering where she was and how she came to be there. She recalled her morning spent with Andromache and Astyanax, remembered looking for Briseis, remembered walking alongside her cousin to the temple of Apollo…

Apollo.

The power and strength carved into stone, a tall alter, cold eyes. Cassandra remembered the sense of helplessness, the fear deep in her cheat, making it hard to breath as she knelt at the feet of the statue – Briseis performing her duties as priestess just to her right. It had been so hard to bow her head, bare the back of her vulnerable neck. So hard that she hadn't managed to pray or apologize as she'd intended to do before an explosion of sound vibrated through the temple. Bells of warning sounded from Troy's walls, the sound of battle erupting from the sands outside, so loud the waves of the sea had been drowned out.

Cassandra remembered the panic and tried to push herself to her feet as she recalled hiding Briseis away from the attackers mere seconds before they charged into the alter room. The panic she remembered resurfaced in her once again now upon realizing she could not stand or even move very much at all. Her hands were tied back behind her, cloth digging into her wrists; she noticed for the first time now the hard bite of a support beam against her back. She was tied to the pole and her heart leapt into her throat, memory crashing back into her and the throb in her temple made so much more sense now that she recalled her struggle and fight against armored, faceless men. They'd killed the priests, every one of them, backhanding her with cruel knuckles and sending her reeling into unconsciousness.

Her thoughts turned to Briseis… what had become of her cousin? Had she been found as well? Was she tied to a beam in some other tent nearby? Had she been killed along with the priests? Or had she escaped?

She found herself praying to whoever would listen that Briseis had managed to avoid the brutality.

Cassandra began wriggling against the beam at her back, fingers and wrists straining as she felt along the cloth cording around her hands, the tips of her fingers going raw while she plucked and dug them into the bindings – trying without success to loosen the ties. The sound of approaching male voices beyond the dark wood and canvas of the hut reached her ears and she stilled, froze in terror as the voice came closer and closer. Her arms were beginning to stiffen and ache from being held back behind the pole for so long, but she could not bring herself to think about the ache now as a the shadow of two men fell across the flaps of the hut. She flattened her back against the pole as the flap was pulled aside and the strangers entered – a filthy blond walking and a dark haired male hanging back with only his head breaching the entrance.

Cassandra's heart leapt into her throat and she turned her head away sharply, neck and back and arms aching in protest.

A set of eyes she'd have recognized in any lifetime took in the sight of her with a battle worn intensity that she'd only ever seen in the face of one man. A man she'd never met and never thought she would meet; a vision and dream she'd watched so many times from some suspended plain around him.

She recognized the voice of the second man, from where she was not sure – perhaps from the temple? But she did not dare turn her head back to see his face. Her chest was tight as she listened to the sound of dirty armor being removed; it almost felt as though she had forgotten how to breathe and she inhaled sharply just to insure that she hadn't.

"The men found her in the temple." The man at the flap explained and Cassandra could feel his stare. "They thought she'd, um… amuse you."

Cassandra's stomach dropped and she gasped silently to herself, feeling terror grip her chest at the implication of the stranger's words. She closed her eyes, taking large gulps of air to calm her self and school her expression as best she could… but her heart was hammering so hard. It was too loud in her own ears to be ignored.

Water was sloshing as the man left and Cassandra chanced a glance out of the corner of her eye towards the man she'd been left with only to find those stark blue eyes on her still. She turned away once more as the heavy chest plate came off the man – a mile of toned skin coated in sweat and dirt and blood revealed to her unabashedly.

"What's your name?" He asked, but was met with a heavy silence. More armor and leather was unlaced and tossed aside, "Did you not hear me?"

Cassandra remained silent and stock, frozen still despite the tremor of her heart and lungs. A cold fear was hard and heavy in her stomach as she sat, tied and defenseless under this man's gaze – a man she'd known for so long, never having feared the sight or sound of him before… in her dreams. But it wasn't so easy to do when he stood before her, flesh and blood and solid and mortal and… in an ever-growing state of undress. Intense eyes that she had found beautiful in dreams and visions were suddenly harsh in her own sight and something to avoid, intimidating and piercing. Not cold, but rather too hot to look directly into. Like the sun.

"I know you hear me, girl," he rumbled, tone patient but sharp at the edges; that patience ran thin. "I ask again: what is your name?"

"What difference does it make if you know my name or not?" She tried to snap, sound fierce and one not to be toyed with. She was proud of the strength she had managed in her voice – in truth, she felt none of it.

"My mother did not raise me rude."

"I doubt she raised you a killer either, yet here you are." She turned a glare to the man, a barely audible gasp in her throat when she was met with the sight of him tossing the last of his clothing aside and standing bare before her. She looked away, but she didn't see a care in him about it – he simply leaned heavily over a washbasin, looking haggard and desiring of rest. She swallowed thickly, "You killed Apollo's priests."

"I've killed men in five countries, never a priest."

"Then your men did!" She met his eyes then, forcing her self to hold the contact, voice strained with anger and disgust of him. She'd found him so beautiful in her dreams… anger and fear was swiftly changing her opinions. "They were priests, not warriors. They were not armed!"

Achilles almost chuckled in the face of her wrathful tone, seeing a stubborn fire in her despite coiling fear as well. He found amusement in her words. Troy's Prince Hector had only just spoken similarly to him an hour at the most ago inside the temple. Grabbing a fresh wrap, he simply watched her as she turned her face away once more – shy or simply intimidated by his bare state, either way, it was becoming and he found himself smirking lightly as he took to approaching her. He eyed her dirtied tunic and the curl of her hair, gaze following the velvet dark strands that had fallen loose around her face and neck – mostly likely from her capture. She must have struggled, he realized, as he also took note of the slight bruising high along the side of her face. She was a lovely thing, even with the nasty scowl she had set for him and the filth that covered her smooth skin.

"You are no priestess," he watched her shift under his scrutiny. "What was your business in the temple this morning?"

She turned a look on him, brow furrowed like she thought he was joking. "It's a temple," she explained with an irritable edge in her voice. "What business could I have possibly have had there if not to pray?"

"So you are a servant of Apollo?"

"I pray," she snapped. "But I am hardly his servant."

He made a thoughtful sound deep in the back of his throat, predator eyes studying the turned line of her profile, the loose chocolate curls falling from what must have been a lovely weave of waves and pearls at the back of her head. He didn't need to ask to know she was royalty – he could see it in the soft, smooth curve of her tied palms and defiant set of her jaw. He could hear it in her voice when she spoke, and smelled it on her in her silence. "What is your name?"

She hesitated, turning her eyes to look up at him carefully as he stood over her, and took to silence once more. He sighed, squatting down in the sand beside her and she felt his thick, hot fingers yank and pull away at the knot of cloth that tied back her hands.

"What harm is there in my knowing your name?" He tossed the cloth aside, remaining down in the sand beside her as that thin patience returned to his voice – amusement lacing the words.

Cassandra studied him slowly, rubbing the feeling back into her wrists. Her eyes narrowed, "What is yours?"

"Your stubbornness will find you nothing but troubles…" he sighed again, shaking his head at the frown that enveloped her face. "I am Achilles."

"Achilles…" she repeated, the harsh edge of her frown softening out. Her Lion now had a name to go with the face and voice and body she had already known and recognized. She eyed the expectant expression on is dirty face and muttered her name softly in answer simply in hopes that doing so would divert those eyes from her, "Cassandra."

"Cassandra?" He knew the name, "Priam's daughter?" He watched her nod, "I'd have thought a princess to be more heavily guarded…"

"I wasn't alone."

"No," he snorted somewhat as he squatted beside her. "Apollo was with you, wasn't he? Well, your god did a poor job protecting you."

"Apollo may have been there and he may have been watching, but he wasn't protecting me," Cassandra snapped at him again, scowling once more. "He would sooner protect you then me."

"I doubt that," he smirked slightly, remembering how he'd hacked the god's head clear off his statue just an hour or so ago.

"You do not know him so well."

"I've seen him."

"Seeing is not knowing," she said hotly, letting her hands fall to her lap.

"Regardless, you are the daughter of his patron city…"

"That makes no difference to him."

He frowned at her. She was such an argumentative young woman – part of him stiffened irritably at it and another praised her for it. She was no meek souled woman, silent and obedient and accepting of a man's opinion as law. This Cassandra, daughter of Priam, sister to Great Prince Hector and Prince Paris, was full of fire. Then again, she was royalty – she'd probably spent her entire life talking down to men.

Achilles found himself reaching out, thick fingers grazing the side of her turned face. She would not be badly bruised, but she would be bruised nonetheless. As he touched her, her face turned enough for her large brown eyes to meet with his blue – he couldn't completely read the expression she presented him with, but he saw confusion and a struggle to conceal fear in the dark brown depths. She had her brother's eyes, Hector's eyes – strong and defiant, compassionate. Passionate. And she possessed the same beauty as Paris… more so then Paris even.

Achilles began to wonder whether the one who had named Helen the most beautiful woman alive had seen Cassandra. Surely if he had, titles would have been distributed a bit differently.

"Who hit you?" He asked, finger smoothing over the bruise slowly.

Cassandra turned her face away from Achilles, feeling heat trying to ignite in her cheeks. Embarrassment filled her stomach – he was touching her, sitting close enough for her to feel the heat that radiated off his chest; his very bare chest. He was in not but a single, thin cloth wrap that hung loose and low from his hips – teachings of being modest all her life left her incomparably embarrassed and nervous in the presence of a man so bare before her. Especially this man. She kept the color at bay, shifting enough to break the touch of her Lion's hand on her face – as fierce and unforgiving he appeared in person, the touch had been gentle on her bruised flesh. It had been… it confused her. "I do not know."

Achilles watched her shy away from him, finding it strangely endearing. He was careful not to express this though. "Are you afraid, Cassandra?" he asked her quietly.

She looked at him again, full lips parting softly as she regarded him carefully with calculating brown eyes and carefully thoughtful expression. Her elegant brows lifted and her head turned slightly, "Should I be?"

"Most women would be," he reasoned.

She scowled at him, "I am not most women."

"No, you aren't," he shook his head. "But you are a princess of Troy. Priam's pretty daughter, alone, in an enemy camp… surrounded by men with too many needs and too few morals. I should think you should be very afraid."

"Are you such a man?" She asked point blank, dark eyes flashing over his damp, filthy body. The water he'd sloshed around on himself from the washbasin had cleared long, twisting tracks through the grim on his tanned shoulders and face and chest – painting him in stripes. Like an animal in the wild.

He did not answer her right away, couldn't, and simply stared at her. Priam's pretty daughter… too naive to have understood her situation herself? No. He doubted that. But he could not conceive how she could understand and not be afraid… after all, she had been brought here for his amusement. Surely she understood that – but the wary eye she'd kept on him was not so noticeable anymore. Still there, but softened… her fear of him had dwindled, but had not left. He could see it still as she watched him watching her, waiting for his answer…

"No," he finally told her. And so far as he could tell, he meant it.

"Then I am not afraid."

"But you are."

"…", She hesitated before dropping her gaze and slightly bowing her head, eyes trained on her hands in her lap. "…not for the same reasons you might think."

He was honestly surprised that she admitted to the apprehension that flecked around in her eyes; she seemed the kind to vehemently deny it. "Then for what reasons?"

Cassandra felt her chest tighten again. If she told him the truth… the idea of her Lion, her strong and beautiful Lion, thinking her as mad as the rest of her family and people did broke her heart. She couldn't bear to look at him and see pity or disdain in his eyes for her. Anyone else she could learn to bear and ignore, but not her Lion. Not Achilles. She couldn't tell him the truth – he wouldn't believe her. And more then she'd ever wanted to be believed in all these years, she wanted him to believe her.

He was a stranger by all rights, dangerous and murderous, a man bred to kill. Cassandra knew very well what the blond man-god was capable of – she'd seen it. And as little as she knew about the man, she knew the Lion… and in a strange sense, she'd fallen in love with that vision. The dream. To have him reject her or mock her… she didn't think she'd survive it.

"I… know why you are here. I know what your being here means…" she began, eyes on her hands. "And… I fear… what is to come. What you will do." And what will become of you, her mind continued but her mouth did not. She couldn't bring herself to look him in the eyes anymore. And that bothered her.

Achilles continued to stare, looking over her profile as she studied her hands. She had left much unsaid even as she'd spoken, he knew, but he could see she was unwilling to share. He could press the matter, he knew, but he didn't. He wouldn't. Which surprised him. They fell into silence - Cassandra watching her hands, Achilles watching Cassandra… until the sound of Eudorus' heavy, even footfalls reached the blond's ear and he turned slightly to the sound of his man addressing him. His eyes did not leave Cassandra's profile.

"Agamemnon requests your presence." Eudorus explained, as he looked from his lord to the lady the blond squatted in front of. "The kings are gathering to celebrate the victory."

"You fought well today," Achilles praised the man standing in the entrance of his hut out of the blue. Cassandra could tell from the surprise and pleasure in the same dark haired man from before's voice that such a thing was not common practice from her Lion.

She wondered vaguely if he was doing so for show before her… and then wondered why. He shifted, adjusting the set of his wrap on his hips, and she finally looked at him again to find him staring straight at her. "If not one such as the rest, what kind of man are you then?" she asked quietly after the other man in the flap of the hunt left.

Cassandra watched him blink slowly, head tilting to one side as he met her eyes directly – his matted blond hair falling with the tilt of his head to one side, against his strong shoulder. He seemed to sigh, but was silent about it, and finally dropped his gaze from her and turned his head.

"One you do not need to fear," he answered. Suddenly standing from beside her, he continued a little gruffly, "And you are the only Trojan who can claim such a thing of me."

"Why me?" she asked him, but he did not answer her.


OKAY. This chapter is grossly overdue and I am soooo sorry for that. It was meant to be quite a bit longer, but I've taken so long to get it out I figured I would just upload it for you guys as is… PLEASE REVIEW