Note: Section 6 would normally have been split into several sub-sections, but there was not enough in the script to dictate actually doing so. So instead of having one or two lines per sub-section, I simply squeezed a whole bunch together to give it more length and a better look.

PS: Sorry this took so long, but here it is! The final chapter!

Chapter Nine

I

Adonia ran, her heart hammering in her chest as the horrific screams of the massacre echoed off the walls of the smooth stone walkway she ran along. Such horror would forever scar her, and she found herself screaming as she came across bodies, lying drenched in blood, at the end of the walkway. Panic began to flood her senses. The Greeks had made it within the palace walls; it would only be a matter of time before they found her and her family.

Panic is a strange thing. It can drive one to give up or to endure, it can lead one to brilliance or insanity, and in some extreme cases it can cause one to lose all hope. Hope was the only thing Adonia had to cling onto. It was the only scarp of reality that was keeping her from completely losing her mind. There was no power in the world that could force her to give up such hope other than death.

In her heart she knew that so long as she lived her family and her loved ones would search for her, but the instant she relinquished that hope she was doomed. After all, she had not only herself to live for, but her child as well. So, she ran, knowing she had to find safety.

"Paris!" She screamed, "Andromache!" Suddenly, she stopped mid stride. A pale, riderless, white horse was bolting through the corridor, its eyes thick with panic, its nostrils flared in terror. Quickly, in hopes to dodge the charging horse, Adonia slammed herself against a wall, pressing her body close to the rough, white stone. She sighed in hurried relief as the terrified beast galloped past in a gust of wind and a shower of dirt.

An idea hit Adonia like a blow to the stomach; it was more tradition than rational idea though. She was clinging to the only tangent of belief that the elders would say could save the city. Determined to do as tradition would bid her do; Adonia raced out of the corridor with her eyes sparkling in defiance and determination. Maybe the only thing that could save this city was a miracle. It was a long shot, but she had to try.

II

"ADONIA! ADONIA!" Achilles called as he shoved through the crowds of panicked Trojans. Patroclus was at his side as the two shoved their way through the upper city, Achilles became incredibly frustrated. It was impossible to distinguish faces in this crowd, and she could be anywhere in this city!

"I don't think we'll find her down here," Patroclus called to Achilles over the horrified cries of the people. Achilles knew he would never find Adonia down here, and he hated himself for wasting so much time. He'd been such a fool to think that she would run through the city, into the chaos. Most likely she was still in the palace, and so his mind was made up.

Easily and without strain he and Patroclus scaled the palace wall. It was not an easy feat, the scale such a wall, but they were driven by something much more than riches, and it was that reason that gave them haste. Easily, the intensely trained Greek warriors swung over the top of the wall and landed like cats on solid ground; eyes alert, hands on the hilts of their swords. One of the Apollonian guards spotted the two Greeks as they'd swung over the wall, and his training and duty overrode his intense sense of fear as he charged at the two.

Without any effort, Achilles disarmed the guard and left him, sprawling, flat on his back. Grabbing him by the bronze chest plate he was wearing, Achilles hauled him to his feet, the steel of his sword gleaming against the tender skin of the man's throat. Patroclus stood beside him, looking just as menacing.

"Adonia – where is she?" He asked roughly before nearly shouting, "Where is she?!"

"I don't know... please, I have a son," the man pleased, knowing he was outmatched by these two. He held up his hand, and Achilles dropped him, shoving him away in anger. Not sparing a look back, Achilles set out. He would search the entire palace if he had to. He would tear it apart brick by brick, but he would find her. He would find his Trojan Princess.

"Get him out of Troy," Patroclus said to the Apollonian before he ran after his cousin. His determination to find Adonia may not have been as insane, but he would help his cousin find her in any way.

III

"No one escapes! No one!" Agamemnon shouted at his men as they tore the Trojan forces to pieces. They didn't stand a chance against the power of the Greek armies! Their people might call their deeds heroic, but Agamemnon saw them for what they really were. All this bloodshed could have been avoided if that pompous, proud, and moronic king of theirs had just given up the city when nicely asked. Now he was just going to have to take it by force.

Agamemnon relished in the screams of the women and the children as they met their end. Their deaths were needless, and many of them were being taken prisoner, it was just the ones who were caught in the fires that died. Turning to look over his shoulder, the Greek King of Kings saw the once brilliant city of Troy a ball of fire, and the red glow on his face made him appear even more of a demon than he was.

The sick grin on his face was revolting, the way he took pleasure in the destruction of an entire city. The city would be his by morning, and the twisted look of glee on his face was not at all distorted by the 'valiant' effort that Priam's warriors were putting up. They would all be dead by morning.

IV

Glaucus, the proud general, stood with fifty of his men. He'd walked up and down their ranks, clasping hands with each man. They all knew death was near, but they did not fear it. They would die to defend this city, their homes, and their history.

"You men are soldiers. Leading you has been an honor." A cheer rang up from the men at his words, and he smiled even broader as Paris appeared in the room. He was winded from running, and behind him was Hektor. The men's faces brightened at seeing their hero, their champion, and their hopes were rekindled. Both of the Princes clasped hands with Glaucus, knowing it would probably be the last time they saw him in this world.

"The boatman is waiting for us. I say, let him wait a little longer!" Glaucus yelled as the Greeks broke through the great doors of the reception hall. His call was met by the roar of his men, and they attacked fiercely. Their strength had been increased by the appearance of their princes, and for a while they held the Greeks back, actually forcing them to let up ground. Paris notched an arrow to his bow and fired at will, felling Greeks left and right, and it was all Hektor could do to restrain himself from using the sword in his hands. He knew he couldn't fight, and it killed him.

But fate was not on their side. Though the Trojans were strong, they were grossly outnumbered, and they could not hold off the Greeks for long. Paris' skills were far more impressive than Hektor had judged, and his younger brother fired quickly and accurately, adding more and more Greek bodies to the floor.

Odysseus' entrance to the hall was swiftly followed by Glaucus' death. Their engagement was short, for Odysseus had the advantage of strength and sleep, while the aged veteran had met his match long ago. He could not keep up with the speed of the Greek General's blade, and was therefore ended by it.

Hektor's instinct kicked in, and he commanded the surviving Trojans to fall back further into the palace. There were too many Greeks gaining too much ground in the small reception hall, and if they would have any chance of surviving longer they would have to find better ground.

V

The palace was lost. Greeks swarmed the rooms, seizing whatever treasure they could. They were so caught up in their plundering that most failed to notice the fool of a King stumbling around. Horror, shock, pain and disbelief were written on his face. He'd armed himself with a sword, he'd been a great warrior in his prime, but he was far past that now. Rushing into the hall, he was disgusted by the scene before him. Greeks were defiling the alters to the gods who had protected his city for so long, only to abandon it now. They were stealing the golden figurines and smashing whatever they could not take with them. Roaring in anger, the old King raised his sword high in the air and shouted, "Have you no honor?! No respect for the Gods?!"

The words are no sooner off his tongue, than a spear is run through his chest from behind. He gasps, unable to cry out in pain, and collapsed onto the floor as he lost control of his body. He had not seen Agamemnon standing behind him. In vengeance and in pure hatred the Greek King had thrust a spear through his enemy, and was not yet content to let the old man die. Instead, he yanked the spear from his opponent's back, and stood above him triumphantly.

"I wanted you alive, old king. I wanted you to watch your city burn," Agamemnon gloated, relishing the taste of his absolute victory over the city that had opposed him for so long.

"Please... the children... spare the innocents..." Priam pleaded with his last breath.

"Let Hades decide who's innocent." Agamemnon spat at the old man, and then turned to leave him to die alone in the grand halls he'd been so proud of. Let his body rot in the broken halls that were his entire fault. Walking, as if he were on a stroll in his own gardens, Agamemnon took up a perch beneath an archway of the palace. It offered a perfect view of the lower gardens, where a massive statue of Apollo stood. There was also the fabulous accenting of the burning city and the black smoke that rolled off the inferno below. Such a wonderful sight to see his enemies fall so utterly! Magnificently pleased with himself, the King of King turned his head only slightly, and was suddenly filled with rage.

How dare that little Trojan whore still be alive?

VI

Achilles ran headlong through the palace, not paying attention to the panicked groups of people that bolted from him. He didn't even pay attention to Patroclus, either he would be following or he wouldn't. There was no time to worry about anything but finding her. He had this feeling that something was about to happen, it was a feeling he'd had before, and it had never been wrong. He'd learned long ago to trust his instincts, and if he didn't find her soon he was almost positive that someone else would. Someone who may not have her interest at heart.

"ADONIA! ADONIA!" He called frantically, keeping himself under such tight control on the outside, but he had a feeling that all of his self control was about to break down if he found her anything but alive.

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The city was an inferno around her, but she did not fear the touch of the flames. She could smell the ash around her, and felt it sting her skin and could taste it on her tongue, but she did not let it stop her. She knelt before the great statue of Apollo in her father's garden, her hands clutched over her hearts as she plead with the great lord to save those she loved. She prayed that she would survive only to see him again. That was all she wanted, a sign that he was alive.

So focused on her prayers, was she, that she didn't notice the people approaching her. She didn't realize that there were even people around her until a sick voice whispered in her ear, and with horror she realized how foolish she'd been to let her guard down.

"Too late for prayer, Princess." Her head snapped around, as Agamemnon grabbed her hair and dragged her to her feet. She yelped in surprise and began to struggle when he held a bloodstained sword up to her throat. She caught her breath and went as still as she could. The cold, wet metal bit into her skin, and the sickening copper smell of blood made her stomach roll. Fear did not find her, only hatred and the intense will to survive and escape.

"Your parents should have taught you to stand before a king," Agamemnon's voice was filled with a sick and twisted sense of amusement, and she pitied this man's soul. He would be in the underworld before long; tortured for all that he had done to the innocents of her city.

"They did," she growled, trying to keep from shaking. It would not have been out of fear, but out of pure hatred and anger.

"You wore a white robe when I last saw you," you taunted, and his proximity to her was revolting. It was true; however, she no longer wore the white of a pure princess, but no more. She'd given all her heart and all herself to Achilles, no matter what this fool would thing. "No more? Did brave Achilles ruin you for the temple?" Yanking her hair he pulled her closer, and she was revolted. He was an ugly man with an ugly soul, and she wanted nothing more than for him to die. A slow and painful death would have been due to the murderer of her people. When she said nothing, his lips rose in a sneer.

"I almost lost this war because of your little romance. I want to taste what Achilles tasted." The very thought of what he was suggesting disgusted her far more than any insult ever would. Suddenly, terror did find her, as she realized that her life wasn't the only one at stake right now. What would happen if she was taken prisoner by Agamemnon? What would happen to her child? These thoughts kept her from fighting. She had to find a way out of this, there had to be a way out! "You'll be my slave in Mycenae. A Trojan princess scrubbing my floors. And at night – "

She heard the tearing of cloth as he grabbed her robe at the shoulder and attempted to rip it off of her. She'd had enough. Out of her sleeve Adonia drew her hand, and stabbed a jeweled dagger into the man's exposed throat. Anger rolling off her; she dug it deeper and deeper into the soft, vulnerable flesh of his neck. Blood spilled out and stained her hands, but she didn't feel it. Gasping for air and clutching at his neck, Agamemnon fell to the ground. His body convulsed several times until he slowly died, and a sense of triumph came over Adonia.

The bodyguards that she hadn't seen stared at their dying King in disbelief. Gasping, she lifted her skirts and attempted to run, but the guards lurched into action, chasing after her. One pursued her and dragged her to the ground. There was a sickening crack in her wrist as she threw her hand out to keep from falling on her stomach. She bit her lip as she cried out in pain; she tasted blood rolling over her tongue.

The bodyguard that hadn't tumbled to the ground with her stood over her, his sword raised in the air. The fire glittered off the blade, she could see the muscles in his arms tensing, and she was about to scream when his head rolled from his shoulders. She quickly rolled out of the way as the man's body collapsed beside her. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the brilliant figure of Achilles whirl around and end the other man's life. Achilles had come. He had saved her, and she couldn't help herself. She flew to her feet and threw her arms around his neck.

VII

Together, Paris and Hektor ran through the palace, searching for Adonia. She was the only one of their family who was unaccounted for – dead or alive. They wouldn't leave without knowing that she was safe, or could not be helped. In sheer agony they had to part from their father's body. It had been horrific; to find him laying in a pool of blood in his decimated throne room. It was a dishonor to him and the gods, but there was nothing they could do about it.

Feeling panicked now, Hektor looked out an archway, and in both relief and horror he found Adonia. Her arms were wrapped around the murderer Achilles. His bloodstained sword was still in his hand, and Hektor felt himself fill up with rage. Paris soon saw what had his brother so enraged, and he too felt that familiar red feeling. Only, Paris saw the man that both Adonia and Hektor had overlooked.

Patroclus stood in the background of Adonia and Achilles' reunion. He was ecstatic to have found her alive, but at the same time, he knew that this was important for them, to be together again. He smiled as she noticed him, and he took a step forward to meet her embrace, when there was the feeling of warm metal on the back of his neck. The world swam before his eyes, and he distantly heard a woman, Adonia most likely, scream out his name as he fell forward. His vision went black before he hit the ground.

Achilles bellowed in rage and swung his sword around to cleanly remove Agamemnon's head from his shoulders. He hadn't been dead. Gripping to life, the man had pulled the dagger from his throat and plunged it through the back of Patroclus' neck. Sick with grief Achilles dropped to his knees beside his cousin's body. The light was gone from his eyes; there was no hope for him. Adonia stood in shock. She had been sure that Agamemnon would not have been alive. A wound like that would have killed him quickly, but what if she had not hit the vital artery? What if she had just barely missed it? His death would have taken longer, and he would have had the strength to murder one of the men she had tried so hard to save.

"Adonia!" Hektor called loudly, for he could hear more Greeks coming. He could hear their feet against the marble floors, and he knew there was no more time to waste. With Paris in tow, he ran down the stairs to where his sister was, and embraced her strongly. She yelped as pressure was put on her wrist. Achilles jumped to his feet, ready to defend her, but she quickly stepped in front of him.

"We must go, more are coming," Hektor said roughly, indicating that he would not take no for an answer.

"I cannot leave him," she said, her voice cracking as she tried to fight back sobs of guilt and grief.

"He is already dead." The words rang clear in her mind, but she still refused to believe it.

"You brother is right. Is there was way out?" Achilles asked, and for a tense moment, Adonia wasn't sure if Hektor was going to trust him. But, at the desperate look on her face, he nodded and accepted her hero as an ally. They would have been an impressive team, the greatest warrior of Troy beside the greatest warrior of Greece. Only Hektor was still no where near his best.

"There is always a way out for the Princes," Paris said, puffing out his chest. He was clearly threatened by Achilles, and she was careful to stand between him and her brothers. She did not need them fighting now. She had lost one of her closest friends; she could not stand to lose any more. Even though she and Paris did not really get along, she couldn't stand to lose another person who was so close to her. Leading the way, Hektor ran in the direction of the hidden door he knew. Paris followed with Adonia and Achilles right behind. Perhaps they would make it through this night. Perhaps this was the end for Troy, but just maybe they would make it through this horrible night alive. There was a chance, a huge chance that they could survive, but there was an even greater chance that they would perish this night.

A thought crossed Paris' mind as they ran through palace, getting nearer and nearer to the hidden door. Who would close the door?

The final chapter.......or is it?

Who should close the door?