Ummmm…..ok, hi there everyone! For once, I don't have a lovely rambling nothing to go on about at the beginning really, just a warning. This chapter gets a wee bit violent (I'm sure you know why by now…) and more than a wee bit depressing. Honestly, I didn't particularly enjoy writing it, hence why it took so long, anyway….
When the Tables Turn…Chapter 13: Departures Part I
As the battle raged on, both sides watched with bated breath. Greek and Trojan alike were now bound by the same fear, the same awe, the same fascination. The fear that made them want to look away, and the awe and fascination that kept them looking, bound to their spot, paralyzed. The feeling swept over the battlefield like waves of the Aegean Sea. They watched, the Greeks from the sand, the Trojans from the walls as both combatants drew their swords. Their movements seemed to be long and drawn out, as if they were each reading the other. They charged with immense intensity, and the eagle swerving above gave a screeching cry in time with the first clash of their swords. Within these first few movements, the onlookers could tell that this would be a battle like none ever witnessed on this earth.
With every swing of their sword, the warrior had only one thought in his mind: to kill. Neither wasted their energy on spins and fancy parries, but rather used their strength with the sole intent to send the one swing that will pierce metal, rip flesh, and break bone. There were no spared moments between the blows, and the rapidity soon becomes almost rhythmic. The bronze blades hissed and sliced through the air, clashing against one another for what seemed like hours on end.
In the Greek camp, Agamemnon, Nestor, and Odysseus stood side-by-side to watch, each with a unique expression of wonder. Any quarrels or qualms between the three have been forgotten, and they simply watched, their eyes following every movement of the battle of such an intensity the world has never seen before and shall never forget.
Suddenly Hector lunged and thrust forward at an opening. The Trojans stood from their seat to see the sword pierce Achilles' armor and come out through the back. Their faces were inches from each other's. Hector looked down, confused that Achilles seemed unaffected by his sword. He realized that he had not skewered the Greek at all, his bronze sword only barely penetrated the golden metal of Achilles' breastplate, allowing the Greek soldier to clamp down upon his arm holding the sword. Hector struggled in vain against Achilles' grip to free his sword, but stopped to duck a blow from Achilles aimed at his head.
Achilles abruptly released the Trojan prince and swung yet again. Hector staggered backward and Achilles stepped in to attack, but came too close. Hector lashed out defensively, catching Achilles off guard, but he jumped back and raised his sword. They locked and both combatants stood face to face. Hector was sweating and beginning to breathe heavily, while Achilles looked the same as if he were taking a leisurely stroll. Achilles shoved Hector back with a grunt. Hector, fatigued, stumbled and fell after stepping on a rock.
Achilles leered above him. "Get up prince of Troy. I won't allow a stone to take my glory." Hector obeyed and stood somewhat shakily. Mustering the last of his quickly fading strength, Hector charged. His blows achieved an explosive magnitude as he used all his might on one last swing of the sword. When the attack had subsided, Hector stopped to catch his breath for a quick moment and surveyed Achilles. Not a single new scratch was made; he had parried everything Hector threw at him.
Achilles returned the attack in a similar fashion, with Hector only possessing enough energy to block Achilles' sword sloppily with his shield. The Greek made one tremendous stab at the prince, who raised his shield in response. It all seemed as if it happened in slow motion. The bronze sword thrust forward and met the shield, piercing through it with an unearthly scraping sound. It continued and struck the metal of Hector's breastplate, breaking through it, straight into Hector's chest. Hector looked down at the blade in his body, as if disbelieving. Then he looked to Achilles.
Reactions went off simultaneously from all who were watching the battle commence. On the walls were shrieks of horror and cries of anguish. The Greeks raised fists, and beat their armor, and gave a triumphant cry for their commander. Hector's eyes never leave Achilles' unforgiving face as he sank first to his knees and then sideways into the sand.
The King and Queen of Troy had both left their seats. Hecuba covered her face in her hands, so that no one may see the tears that stained them. Priam clutched her shoulder with one hand, and his heart with his other, as if he himself had been stabbed. Andromache held her baby tight to her chest, shielding him from the sight, while one of her small hands clasped tightly over her mouth and all color drained from her face.
Down on the battlefield, Hector's face had grown white as well. Achilles stood over him in the bright sunlight. Hector shut his eyes and grimaced. He opened his mouth and blood trickled out the corner before he mustered all his remaining strength and spoke. "Achilles… I am dying beside the walls of my beloved city. Let them take me within the walls and bury me. Don't leave me here to rot… My father will give you gold. All you need do is ask and my mother will throw her jewels down from the walls if you wish, but I implore you, give my body back to them," Hector opened his eyes once more, pleadingly.
Achilles jaw clenched slightly for a moment. "You killed him." He answered. "I cannot forgive that. Ever. He was the brother I never had. He was mine to look after. Die now and I wish the dogs joy of your carcass." He spat. They looked at each other for a moment, before Hector let out a rasping breath and his head fell back against the sand, lifeless.
Achilles turned and headed back towards his chariot. Once he reached it, he gathered the rope that he had requested from his soldier before leaving the Greek camp. He threw it over his shoulder and took up the reigns. Everything became silent again and they all watched the Greek commander ride in his chariot not back to his encampment, but towards the Trojan prince once more.
All of Troy watched in horror as Achilles slit the tender flesh above the prince's ankle. Helen now stood next to Priam and Hecuba, but the great queen had sunk to her knees. Priam lowered himself to his beloved wife and shielded her eyes and his own. Helen squinted into the sun to see Achilles string the leather strips through the fresh cuts in the prince's flesh. She gracefully wiped a tear and turned. Her gaze softened when she spotted Andromache slumped against the wall, Astyanax clutched rigidly to her chest.
Helen glanced up long enough to notice Achilles strap Hector's body to his chariot. She winced and turned to Andromache. Helen took the older woman's hand and raised her to her feet. Andromache turned to her, eyes blank and endless, but Helen could see red along their dark depths. Helen clasped Andromache's free hand and bent slightly to kiss it. "Come sister, let's go inside now." Helen led a limp Andromache inside the walls.
Achilles whipped his chariot around the last curve of the walls, Hector's body leaving a rounded wake in the sand behind him. The Greek soldier steered the horse and chariot back into the Greek encampment. Greeks began to crowd around the hero. Achilles stared straight forward, avoiding eye contact with the onlookers marveling at his display with the Trojan prince's body.
Odysseus emerged from the crowd to stand in front, closest to Achilles. Achilles unties Hector from the chariot and began to drag him by hand. One of the soldiers scoffed at this sight. "The Trojan's little Prince-ling! He doesn't look so glorious now." Odysseus turned to glare at the man just before walking away in the direction he came.
Achilles reached his tent, with Hector in tow. He left the body outside and continued in where he saw a sight becoming familiar to his eyes. Briseis's back was facing him as he walked in, but she turned slowly upon hearing the entrance to the tent stir. Her palms were pressed together in prayer. She gazed up with uncertainty etched into her features, but Achilles stared straight through her. She knew what his return meant. Briseis slowly lowered her eyes in sorrow and began to sob quietly. She looked so childlike and angelic to the warrior that he can't bear to look at her in her current state. Briseis's strength has deserted her, leaving grief her only companion in the night.
A few hours later found Achilles cleaned and sharpening his sword on a spinning wheel. Briseis sat in the corner, knees pulled to her chest. She studied the man in the center for a moment. The redness around her eyes showed as a constant reminder of how much pain he could cause her, and it made him sick.
"You lost your cousin, and now you've taken mine." Briseis choked quietly. Achilles stopped running a cloth down the length of the sword, but did not look up at her. Briseis took no notice, "When does it end?"
Achilles kept his head bent, dropped the cloth in the sand and began sharpening the sword again. "It never ends," he replied ashamedly. They both finally locked eyes. Briseis rose to her feet and took a step toward him, transfixed. Achilles let the sword that had been his main focus moments ago, fall into the sand with a faint metallic sound. The remaining space between them vanished, but neither noticed nor cared.
Achilles took her face in his hand and stroked her cheek with his calloused thumb. She closed her eyes tightly and lost herself in the touch. Tears emerged from the corners of her closed eyelids. She kept her eyes closed, enraptured, even as Achilles leaned down and kissed the tears from her soft skin. He tasted the salty bitter sweetness that was her sorrow. His face moved unconsciously and she could feel his breath on her lips, ready to envelope them. Suddenly, as if waking from a nightmare, Briseis pulled away. She looked up at him with an unreadable look in her eyes that looked remotely similar to fear. Taking his hand that was resting gently against her throat; she clasped it between her own for a moment and then dropped it. Without another look, she turned and left him.
While Briseis sat outside in the darkness, staring blankly at the moonlit sea, Achilles sat in his tent, a similar look on his face and emptiness in his eyes. His back faced the front of the tent, and a stirring at the tent's flap made him turn slightly.
A figure emerged, hooded in deep blue. Achilles grasped a small bronze dagger hidden in the straps of his sandal. The faint light from a lamp burning in the corner was not enough to illuminate the figure's face. "Who are you?" Achilles demanded quietly. The figure flung back his hood to reveal an aging man. Achilles scanned the stranger and wondered if he was supposed to recognize the man's face.
The man remained wordless and approached Achilles, who stood quickly and fully withdrew the dagger. "Who are you?" he asked again, pointing the dagger towards the intruder's throat. Still he went unanswered. The old man ignored the dagger now less than a few inches from him, as he fell to his knees. He strained to grovel and Achilles' feet, avoiding the Greek soldier's eyes as if they burn him. He then took Achilles' hand and kissed it, still avoiding looking at him directly. He paused for a moment, and slowly raised his head, wincing when he finally saw Achilles' crystal blue eyes.
"I have endured what no one on earth has endured before. I have kissed the hands of the man who killed my son."
Achilles blinked in disbelief. "Priam?" He immediately helped the king to his feet.
"How did you get in here, old king? The sentries –"he began.
"I know my own country better than the Greeks, I believe." Priam cut off bitterly.
"You are a courageous man. If Agamemnon knew of your presence, he'd have your head on a spit."
"Do you really think death frightens me anymore?" The old king replied. "I've watched my eldest son die in front of the walls of his beloved city, watched you drag his body behind your chariot," he finished in anguish. For a moment, Achilles and Priam just looked at each other, and although it appeared that Priam may have broken down again, it is Achilles, who can usually make others uncomfortable under his stare, who must look away.
"Give him back to me. He deserves the honor of a proper burial. You know that as well as I. Give my son to me."
Achilles swallowed with difficulty. "He killed my cousin."
"He thought it was you," Priam argued boldly. "He defended his country as he should have, as any soldier should. How many cousins have you killed? How many sons and fathers and brothers and husbands have perished at your sword? How many, brave Achilles?" He paused to gauge Achilles' reaction, but the Greek soldier had turned from him, blocking his vulnerability. This was all that the old man needed to see to proceed.
"I knew your father. He died far before his time. But he was lucky not to live long enough to witness his son fall. You have taken everything from me. My eldest son, the heir to my throne, and defender of my kingdom. I cannot change what has happened now. It is at the mercy of the gods, as is everything else on this earth, but give me this small mercy."
Achilles turned and looked at Priam's weary eyes as the old man hopelessly tried to blink back his tears. "I loved my boy from the moment I first saw him open his eyes to the world till the moment you closed them to it. Let me wash his body clean. Let me say the prayers to guide him on. Let me place two coins on his eyes for the boatman to find him."
Achilles felt the unfamiliar feelings of guilt and pity rising within him. He shut his eyes, and released as steady of a breath as he could. "If I let you walk out of here, let you take him back with you, it doesn't change anything. You are still my enemy when the sun rises in the coming morning."
"You are still my enemy tonight. But even the bitterest of enemies are at their deepest depths, human, and must show compassion. And, as warriors in battle, they can show their respect."
Achilles nodded in understanding. "I admire your courage, old man. You're a far better king than the one leading this army. Meet me outside in a moment." Priam bowed and left.
Achilles turned to the body lying in the corner of his tent, under the lamp. He approached it, unsure of what to do. Shutting his eyes, he rubbed his eyelids with his thumb and forefinger. He let out a low coughing sound, and removed his hand to reveal tears streaking down his dirtied face. Emitting the same sob, he retrieved a white sheet. He took in several deep breaths, but the tears never ceased from falling the entire time as he wrapped the sheet around Hector's body. He leaned over the body for what seemed like forever after the body was completely wrapped, his tears still falling slow, but freely. They slid down his face, collecting the dirt from his skin, and staining the whiteness of the sheet where they fell.
Between the quieting sobs of this once cold-blooded killer, Achilles uttered in hardly a whisper to the corpse of his most recent victim:
"We'll meet again soon."
Well sorry there isn't a whole lot of Achilles/Briseis going on at the moment, but honestly, did you expect me to go, And everyone on the walls shrugged and said, "Well at least we have more than one prince." Yeah, NO! That's not how it happened, and that's not how I'm gonna write this, because it's necessary for the story to establish what everyone feels and what everyone has to give up. And you may ask how I know that that is how it happened? …….Because… I bought a time machine, ok?
Anywho, I'm actually surprised at how many people truly read that big long AN last chapter, lol, and even more surprised at how many people responded to it! So thanks for the history lessons, the teacher has officially become the student….The annoying hyper-active student who doodles inappropriate pictures of the teacher, considers comic books as the Bible, and has enough spitballs to fill a swimming pool…hehe. Thanks to all reviewers! You're all awesome! I tried to reply to all of them, but I may have forgotten, and if so, I am sorry, I still love ya. Now review again! Review until you can't review no more! And I also discovered on my trip with my time machine that every time you do not review, a prince dies. So yeah, Hector kickin' the bucket… That's on someone's shoulders, I don't know who, but let's not kill off any more heirs, ok? Just review people!