Chapter 11: The Fall

Thersites: a Greek soldier

Heracles: a famed hero from Greece (also known as Hercules)

Philoctetes: Heracles' friend, entrusted with his bow and arrows

King Priam's Palace in Troy

When they held Hector's funeral, all of Troy wept. Even Helen. It seemed like Paris was the only one who wasn't bawling his eyes out like a child.

"Trapped in a besieged city and going out to fight every day. I think Hector got lucky. He got out." Paris glanced over at Helen, who was still sniffling. He rolled his eyes. "Did you care for my brother?"

"Yes. He was the only one who wasn't cruel to me. He never blamed me for the war." She dabbed at her eyes.

'You mean he didn't blame you out loud.' Paris nodded and thought for a while. "You know, he told me goodbye before he left. He seemed ready for death. He'll probably go to paradise, of course, so that's not too hard to get ready for."

"Oh, of course! He was a good man."

Paris sighed and looked away from her. He'd heard that one too many times. "You know, back on the mountain they used to call me Alexander." Protector of Men. "Some connards were trying to steal the cattle, and I fought them off singlehandedly."

It wasn't meant as a boast, not really. He only wanted to see how she would react. But when Paris glanced back at her, Helen had the same old look on her face. Confusion that gave way to placid admiration. "That's great, my love. I'm proud of you."

Fake. Fake fake fake, so fake. Paris had had enough of it. Maybe she had loved him in the beginning, but now the goddess's magic was all he could see. He'd had enough of that, and of the war, and of the hatred everyone so obviously felt for him. And as Helen kissed him, the prince of Troy had a chillingly familiar thought, one that made his blood run cold.

'This isn't the life that I want.'

The Greek Camp

Eat, drink, fight, sleep, wake, repeat.

Somehow the war didn't end after Hector and Patroclus died. Achilles kept doing his job and killing everything in his path, but he would probably never be looked at the same way as he had been in the past.

"I felt him. He was talking to me and sitting right next to me. When I burned his body, he touched my face."

"Right. Whatever you say."

"I'm not crazy."

"I didn't say you were."

It never ended. The Greeks whispered about him back in camp, and the fighting became a chore on the battlefield. More reinforcements kept coming for the Trojans. That one woman, the Amazon, was the only one he remembered. She had large, purple eyes. Achilles didn't notice until he'd already killed her, but—when he lifted her helm and looked at her—the sight made him catch his breath.

Then that ugly son of a bitch Thersites ripped out her eyes, and Achilles killed him.

There was an uproar. Thersites was a Greek soldier, not an enemy. Eventually, it was decided that Odysseus should take Achilles to Lesbos to help him repent for his murder. They made sacrifices to Apollo, Artemis, and Leto. Afterwards, the two soldiers sat in silence.

"So. Some good this'll do, huh?"

Achilles didn't answer. Odysseus wasn't deterred and continued, "I think we all know Apollo and Artemis won't be so friendly towards you for a while, but we can never turn our backs on the gods. Even if they hate us."

"Yeah."

"Hm." Odysseus glanced over and slowly said, "Thersites was a Greek soldier. He fought with us. Why did you kill him?"

"He ruined them."

"What?"

"Her eyes."

"Ah." There was another pause. Then, "They're saying you loved her."

Achilles frowned. "What makes them say that?"

"Well, why else get so angry about it? They think you're...you know. Moving on."

'Moving on?' Achilles pinched his lips and didn't correct him. The only reason he'd noticed her was because of those eyes.

Odysseus smiled faintly and, being ever the clever one, added, "Yeah. I knew they were wrong." He stood. "Come on. We have to go back to battle. I hope you won't make a mistake like this again."

"Okay."

Eat, drink, fight, sleep, wake, hope not to wake.

When he came back, things were even worse. Of course, he'd just killed one of their own. The only consolation Achilles felt was the certainty of his own death looming. Now that Hector was dead, he'd die himself soon. He waited and waited for it.

And finally, it came.

King Priam's Palace in Troy

Apollo hadn't meant to get involved in this anymore. After the death of Hector, the best of men, he'd meant to just let it all go.

But Achilles' sacrifice had gotten his attention, and the god of light realized that watching the former hero drag himself up while obviously waiting for death was rather sad. The blessing of the Styx now cursed him; he could not be wounded. So he just kept on killing. The anger that Apollo had felt for his favorite's killer was gone now; in its place there was only pity.

So as Achilles entered the walls of Troy, Apollo appeared to a Trojan prince to put him out of his misery.

"Prince Paris."

Aphrodite's favorite gasped and turned from the window. His eyes were glazed with fear. "Who are you? Are you a god?"

"Yes. Of light and music and...oh, it doesn't matter." Apollo sighed, and his curl drooped. "We don't have time. Achilles is in the city, and you have to kill him."

"What? Me? Why?" Paris looked panicked. He tried to take a step away, but the wall blocked his path. "Why can't someone else do it?"

"Who else? You're already in the perfect place!" Apollo looked at him beseechingly. "You know he'll take Troy if no one does anything."

"You don't care about that." Paris shook his head. "Of course, now I remember you from that time you blinded me. You favored Hector, so now you're taking revenge on his killer. It's all the same. Don't you gods ever get tired of playing with us mortals?"

Apollo winced. "No. I guess not. But this isn't about that! He doesn't want to live anymore. It would be a mercy."

"Are you sure?" Paris's handsome face was full of uncertainty. "I'll admit it. I messed up a bunch of times. I messed up my own life and many others' lives. Even though it wasn't all my fault! Still...I'm starting to fear for my fate. I can't afford to mess up any more." He took a deep breath. "Is this really the right thing to do?"

"Yes." Apollo didn't even hesitate. "It's the right thing to do."

Paris turned. He nodded, and nocked an arrow. "I'm not sure if I can make this shot."

"It's okay. I'll guide it."

And he did. Paris released the arrow, and Apollo guided it down, down towards the greatest hero of Greece, deep into his heel where his mother held him when she'd tried to take his mortality away.

But he was still mortal; he could still die. Achilles staggered a few steps, dumbly grasping the feathered end of the shaft in his foot. He smiled, and fell.

The Greek Camp

"Face it. Without Achilles, we're doomed! We'll never make it out of here alive!"

"Have some faith. Calchas told us what we have to do, and we did it. We even kidnapped that prophet from Troy. So what did he say, Odysseus?"

The king of Ithaca looked up from his gray and white kitten to consider the other chieftains. Achilles' absence was palpable. "First of all, the prophet said we need the bow and arrows of Heracles."

"What? How are we supposed to get those?"

"Philoctetes had them, didn't he?"

"Wasn't he with us?"

"He got bitten by a snake on the way over. We left him on an island."

"Shit! So what do we do?"

Odysseus yawned and turned back to his cat. "Isn't it obvious? We go get him."

King Priam's Palace in Troy

"So Achilles is finally dead."

"Yeah, and I heard Paris was the one who killed him too."

"Surprising, ain't it? Still, what a coward's way to kill someone."

"I know! Shooting at him from a distance, when he couldn't fight back."

"I guess we shouldn't have expected anything less from him."

Paris closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. He didn't know why he even bothered eavesdropping on people anymore. He'd been doing it for years, and they always said the same thing. Even now that he'd killed their greatest enemy.

'That was the right thing to do. So why doesn't anyone recognize it? They call me a coward, but they can't understand my situation.' Paris sank to the ground. 'I'm not as bad as everyone thinks. I just need more time to prove it.'

He closed his eyes and thought of his life before this whole mess happened, when he was still a shepherd on a mountain with a beautiful nymph who loved him. Paris smiled and felt a tear roll down his cheek. 'Yes, if I get the chance I will make up for everything.'

He felt sure of this, and yet there was a sinister voice nagging him in the back of his mind, filling him with doubt. 'You can never make up for anything. Nothing will ever erase what you've done, whether you die a hundred years from now, or tomorrow.'

Tomorrow? "You're wrong. You don't know what you're talking about." Paris felt a chill and hugged himself.

King Priam's Palace in Troy

These days, Helen watched the battles from the windows of the palace. She'd point and identify the Greek heroes she recognized, and she'd always keep an eye on Paris, of course. People got hurt a lot, but she always felt pleasant anyway. It was like she was drifting in a cloud.

But one day there was an unfamiliar face among the Greeks, with a dangerous expression. Even though he only carried a bow and arrows, there was something formidable in them.

This man ran forward on the battlefield, eager to fight with an arrow already nocked. He took aim and shot at—

"Oh!" It was Paris. Helen covered her mouth, slightly concerned, but it looked like a shallow wound. He should be fine.

But he wasn't. Paris instantly collapsed, screaming in such anguish that Helen was rattled. A few of the others (perhaps reluctantly) carried him inside, and Helen ran to meet them. On the way there, she felt a sudden dizziness and had to stop and shut her eyes. When she found her love, the medics were surrounding him.

"What happened? Is he really hurt?"

"He was shot by a poisoned arrow. Apparently it belonged to Heracles himself. He should be dead in a little while."

Helen gazed upon Paris's sweat-drenched face and felt something in her head break. She gasped and fell to her knees. The cloud was gone.

"Helen...Helen, listen to me."

"Yes?" She gazed at him intently. His blue eyes looked cloudy.

"Please...take me to Mount Ida. I want to see Oenone."

Silence. She clutched his hand.

"Okay."

Mount Ida, near Troy

Paris went in and out of consciousness as the two girls talked. The poison hurt.

"How did you know about me?" That was Oenone. He recognized her voice, so confident and strong.

"He mentioned you sometimes. I think he loved you." That was Helen, in her too-familiar, fluting soprano. Paris winced at the pain in his leg and quickened his breathing.

"Maybe. But he loved you more. Did you love him?"

"I...I might have. At first. But as time went on, things got blurry. All I know now is that I don't want him to die."

"I see." Paris heard someone standing up. "Can you go? I need to talk to him." Helen's footsteps could be heard receding, and Paris opened his eyes with difficulty. Oenone's blurry face was the first thing he saw.

"You came here to ask me to heal you, is that right?"

Paris winced at her tone. It cut him like a knife. "Well... you did say you can heal any wound."

"That's true. But why should I help you?"

"Because I—" He hissed and clutched his leg. "—Because I love you. And I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I realized that my life was so much better with you. I regret all of it, and if I live, I'll stay with you. I'll be a good man, and it'll be like before. No, better than before." As he said it, he realized just how much he wanted that. In his mind's eye, the sun-filled days holding Oenone were all he could see.

"No." She held his hand and looked at him sadly. "I want to show you mercy, Paris, but you started a war out of lust and left me here without a second thought. I know you only came back for my help and haven't really changed. I can't forgive you just so you can go back to your old ways."

"No! That's not true! I—" Paris choked and writhed in pain. The end was near. He felt desperation clawing at his chest and prayed for Oenone to change her mind, for Aphrodite to come save him, even for Helen to do something (though she couldn't). His vision was going black.

'Where will I go? Where will I go in the underworld?'

'You've never done a good thing in your life.'

'You're wrong. I was called Alexander. I put Achilles to rest. I only did what any other man would do, and I'm so sorry now. I need a second chance...'

'Why do you deserve one? All those dead men didn't get a second chance.'

Paris screamed hoarsely as he thought he saw a green-eyed apparition smirking at him. The apparition spoke again:

'The world will be a better place now that you're dead.'

The prince of Troy closed his eyes tightly. He never opened them again.

Author's Notes: I feel like Paris always gets a bum rap for being cowardly and selfish and useless...and he kinda is at times, but there's a little more to his character. I thought the whole thing about how he got the name Alexander was quite interesting. Anyway, the Amazon queen who Achilles fell in love with was named Penthesilea. The guy who gouged out her eyes to mock Achilles was known for being very ugly.

"Connard" is a French insult. I don't know how severe an insult it is, but I wouldn't recommend Google translating it...

Next chapter is the last!