Sorry for the wait, but here's a nice long one! Things are starting to pick up a little... ;) enjoy! And please review!

Disclaimer: I do not own Troy or any of the affiliated characters


Chapter 12: Pride and Honor

Only a little while later, as dusk set in, Adara lit the lamps in the tent, a mixture of pride and concern in her mind. She felt a leap in her stomach at the thought of Patroclus standing up to Achilles. But then, the flying feeling plummeted as she saw the rest of the conversation unfold. She knew about Achilles's temper, and wondered if it applied to his own cousin. The more she thought about it, the worse an idea it seemed to be.

She was in the middle of thinking through every terrible situation that could possibly play out in Achilles's tent when she heard words.

"You're sure he's gone?" a familiar voice asked gruffly, but Adara couldn't place where she'd heard it before.

"Yes," a second man replied. "He left only a few minutes ago. Why are we here though?"

"Because that brat in there is mine!" the first man said. Adara jolted and a sick feeling sat heavily in her stomach as she recognized the voice of Arcos. "And that boy has no idea how to treat a prize like her."

There was a pause, and then the second man rephrased his question. "Why am I here?"

"I need assistance," Arcos replied. There was another pause, during which time Arcos fully grasped the meaning. "You can have her when I'm done."

Adara tried desperately hard not to throw up. She stood, shaking a little, and looked for a weapon. Thinking quickly, she ran over to Patroclus's unused armor and attempted to draw the sword from its sheath.

It was a sorry attempt; the weapon barely even budged for her. She yanked and tugged, and when the sword finally came out of the sheath, she couldn't even hold it up for a moment before her muscles began to ache. Wondering how on earth Patroclus could possibly wield it, she dropped the sword back into the corner and frantically searched for something else as the men outside grew closer.

Just before the flap was thrown open, Adara dashed across the tent and picked up the platter, dumping the food onto the floor and holding it up as half-weapon, half-shield.

Arcos stood in the entrance, smiling, while the other man moved in to grab her. She held the platter up menacingly, but all that earned her was laughter.

"She's a feisty one," the man said, slightly amused. It was obvious he didn't see a purpose to his presence there, but he wouldn't turn from the chance to share in the prize. He approached, and her only desire was to wipe that smile off his face.

She did so with pleasure.

The clang sounded and echoed for a brief second. In that time the man sank to his knees, cradling his head. His eyes blinked open and closed as he tried to stand. Suddenly, he wasn't so smug. He held up his hands as he rose to his feet. "You're on your own with this one," he scoffed, changing his mind very quickly and rubbing his head as he exited the tent. "She's not worth the trouble."

"So be it." Arcos grumbled. Adara raised the platter, but he smacked it out of her hands after a moment of struggle. Defenseless now, he picked her up, threw her over his shoulder, and began to exit the tent as quickly as possible.

Out in the camp, Arcos swore and Adara knew why: soldiers had their eyes on the two, having heard what went on. Not that they would do anything, Arcos knew, but it meant that someone who would do something - like Patroclus or Achilles - may have heard as well.

With her heart beating furiously and her fear escalating as she was carried further from the tent, Adara realized that letting herself do the most natural of things might have been the most beneficial.

In an attempt to cover his ears from her sudden ear splitting, blood chilling shriek that sounded right next to his head, Arcos lost his hold on Adara. She landed on the ground painfully, her legs awkwardly folding beneath her. She pushed off the ground and away from him, regained her footing, and ran.

Now, more people were looking out of their tents to see why someone had screamed. Her eyes flicked from face to face, searching for one particular person in the crowd coming towards them, but she didn't see him.

Adara made it back to the fire and chanced a look behind her, finally seeing whom she had been searching for.

"You're drunk," Patroclus said. Adara saw that Arcos's hand was on his sword. "Let it be. Don't do anything" - the sound of a sword being drawn interrupted him - "stupid." He sighed and reached for his own sword, but only grasped at air; with a sinking feeling, he remembered where he had left it in the corner of the tent. He backed away from the approaching Arcos until he was directly in front of Adara, blocking her completely. But Arcos had a goal and he was angry; on the verge of humiliation, he didn't care how he won as long as he did.

"Give me my prize," he growled, sword hand relaxed but at the ready.

Patroclus thought quickly, knowing he was at a disadvantage. "Your prize?" he asked, though he already knew.

"Is she too stupid to tell you?" he bellowed. Adara saw Patroclus's fists clench at his sides. "She was mine before Agamemnon took her and gave her to you!"

Now, Arcos was right on top of Patroclus, only a few feet away. Patroclus saw that his stalling was not effective, but, at a disadvantage or not, he'd had enough. "That's all she is to you? A prize to boost your self esteem?"

"Honor!" he yelled. "A symbol of honor!" The two now stood only inches apart. Although Arcos was taller and broader, he seemed to shrink a little when Patroclus brought himself up to full height and evenly met his opponent's glare.

"She is more than just a decoration for adorning your pride." He spat the words so only Arcos and Adara could hear, quiet, menacing, disdainful. They hung in the air, thickening the tension, until Arcos's nostrils flared and he let out an angry battle cry. He took a step back, giving himself more room, and chopped downwards with his sword, anger completely clouding his already bad, drunken judgement.

In one fluid motion, Patroclus drew his dagger with one hand, pushed Adara further away from the fight and fire with the other, and then brought his wrists together in an X to block the swing with the vambraces he was still wearing.

Adara didn't regain her balance until when someone caught her underneath the arms. She turned to see Eudorus, watching with wide, worried eyes. He stood her up right and said, "Stay here," before running off into the crowd.

Patroclus chanced a glance over at her, long enough for her to see his relief and for him to see her worry. It was only a moment before he brought his attention back to Arcos. He threw up his vambrace to block the oncoming swing. Both pulled back until Arcos repeated the action, but Patroclus knew his armor was not strong enough, even when he used both in the cross. He lost ground with each swing, his wrists aching. His knees buckled under the strength of another chop, and he put what little energy he had left into the push off, sending Arcos stumbling backwards.

Tired and shaky, Patroclus clumsily got to his feet. He stuck out a hand for balance, but he was much too close to the fire. Flames licked his fingers and circled his exposed hand in the half second before he pulled back. Arcos, who had regained his footing and was no where near as tired, now came on quickly at Patroclus's distraction. Rather than use his scant armor to block the swing, he seized upon his agility, diving to the right, away from the fire and the sword chop. He turned the dive into a roll to get back on his feet, but he only rose halfway, knees bent slightly. Unlike Arcos, who was used to easily swinging a sword all day, Patroclus was unaccustomed to this defensive way of surviving. His breathing was more labored, his arms ached from blocking, and he kept his injured left hand pressed to the cool metal of his right vambrace. He didn't know how much longer he could last.

Neither did Adara. He glanced down at his hand, which Adara saw was bright red. He placed it back on his vambrace, teeth clenched, and once more readied himself for Arcos's sword stroke, on the balls of his feet.

"Enough!" The loud bellow came from behind Adara. She turned, and her eyes were only one of the many pairs watching as Odysseus pushed his way through the crowd, Eudorus behind him.

He put himself between Arcos and Patroclus, facing the former, his eyes daggers. "Have you no honor?" he asked. He didn't shout, but his voice carried. "Attacking a defenseless soldier? Your own countryman?" He motioned towards Patroclus, who had collapsed to his knees as soon as he could. Adara took a step forward to run to him, but Eudorus's hand stayed her.

"Just wait," he said quietly.

"And none of you moved to help!" Odysseus continued, now facing the crowd. He let the words hang in the air for a moment. "No honor, not one of you." His voice had become quiet, which sounded more threatening than it was when he was yelling. He shook his head, disgusted. "Get out of here. All of you. Now. There is nothing left to see. And you," he pointed at Arcos, "this is not over for you."

Arcos, fuming, shot glares from Odysseus to Patroclus, and finally to Adara, before leaving, pushing his way through the thinning crowd.

The moment Eudorus's hand left her shoulder, Adara bolted to where Odysseus and Patroclus were, both on the ground. "You can rest now," Odysseus was saying as she arrived. Patroclus nodded to him, and gave a pained smile when he saw her.

"Let me see your hand," she demanded urgently.

"It's fine," he replied weakly, though he let her see it. She removed the vambrace and observed the damaged, red flesh, feeling its heat.

"How is he?" she heard Eudorus say to Odysseus.

"Tired," the king replied. "With Arcos in the rage, I'm surprised he lasted as long as he did, especially with no weapon. But," he added, his voice becoming amused, "he appears to be in good hands now."

Adara helped Patroclus stand and said, "And so you know, your hand is not fine."

"How bad is 'not fine'?" Eudorus asked. Again, Adara reminded herself that if anything happened, Eudorus was the one who would have to report it to Achilles. And seeing that Achilles was not with them at the moment, she understood that there were currently tensions between the cousins.

"It means that I'm going to need things," she replied. He nodded, waiting for her orders. "A bowl of saltwater and a handful of seaweed." Again, he nodded, and left to do his bidding.

"You have him moving rather quickly," Odysseus noted, holding the tent flap open.

"He's a sensible man.

Odysseus watched with a smile as Adara tended to Patroclus, who was looking at one point in the corner of the tent, his face void of expression. "I must go," he said. "There are...people to see."

"Thank you," Patroclus said, pulling himself out of his trance.

Adara nodded in agreement. "Yes, thank you." Odysseus waved off the attention and left them. "Here," she continued, placing a bowl of water in front of Patroclus. "Soak your hand in that for now." He did so, but the expression he wore remained the same.

"How badly does it hurt?" she asked, worried by his face.

"I can barely feel it," he replied quickly. Barely even pausing for breath, he asked, "Why did you scream?"

"What?" she asked, not following his train of thought.

"I heard you scream," he said, trying to make her remember. "That's why I came running. Why did you scream? Did he hurt you?"

"No, I didn't scream because I was hurt," she said, deciding not to mention how he had grabbed her and dropped her. "I was trying to attract attention."

He nodded, but continued as Adara was straightening up the mess in the tent. "And what happened in here?" His eyes searched the room and widened when he saw his sword out of its sheath.

"I put up a bit of a fight," she replied, letting the smile creep into her voice as she picked up the platter and dropped food.

"What happened with my sword?"

"I tried to lift it and use it when I heard Arcos coming, but I let it go because it was too heavy."

"Are you hurt in any way?"

"No," she said, a little annoyed by his questions. "I'm fine."

"Are you lying?"

"No!" Now she was exasperated. "I was grabbed and I was dropped. I might be a little bruised, tired, and frazzled, but I am fine!"

"He grabbed you?" he repeated. "He dropped you?"

She angrily set a stool upright. "I'm fine! What does it matter?"

"What do you mean, what does it matter?"

"He'll be punished for what he did!"

"This isn't about him!" For someone only using one hand, he was surprisingly animated. "This is about you!"

Both quickly turned at the sound of a throat being cleared rather uncomfortably. Eudorus was standing inside the tent, fascinated with the walls and ceiling, holding the bowl of sea water and seaweed.

"Thank you, Eudorus," she said taking the supplies from him. He nodded, quickly backing out of the tent.

Without a word, she sat across from her patient at the little table and took his hand out of the cool water, moving that bowl off to the side.

"I do not care what punishment is devised for Arcos," Patroclus said, his voice calm and level as she wrapped his hand and wrist in the seaweed. "But I do care if you are hurt."

Still holding his hand, Adara looked up. Clear blue and sea green gazes held each other before she saw the reflection of her cheeks glowing red in his eyes and broke contact, looking down. Adara placed his hand in the bowl of saltwater. She decided to let her heart beat to return to normal. "Oh, really? You don't care the slightest bit about Arcos's punishment?"

He shrugged, playing along, though only half of his heart was in it; the rest was still in the conversation that had just ended. "Maybe a little."


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