Disclaimer: I own nothing but my OC and parts of the storyline. All rights go to Wolfgang Peterson, the wonderful director of Troy.

A/N: Welcome to my new favs/followers: Choking On A Dream, kikibee22, NadiixD, and SamBam15. To all my readers, an fyi for this chapter. You may dislike me for a while, but I promise everything will work out in the end as it always does. This chapter is a test for Achilles and Panthea relationship which will be fully mended next chapter.

Response to Percilla (guest): Haha loved your response. Thanks for reviewing!

Response to guest: Thank you for reviewing. Yeah, I know it seems odd, but many Greeks in historical times had several wives so it was normal then. Plus, she knows Hector likes Panthea so she doesn't want to seem like a jealous wife. Yes, she will always stand up for herself and her relationship with Achilles will be tested this chapter. Thanks for reviewing.

Response to XO (guest): Thank you for reviewing. So glad you like my story! This chapter will not fix things, but will bring the truth forward and test Achilles' and Panthea's relationship.

Ch. 13

"Hateful to me as the gates of Hades is that man who hides one thing in his heart and speaks another."

~ Homer, The Iliad

Several weeks had passed since the first official battle of the war. Other skirmishes had taken place, more soldiers had died in vain, yet Achilles still did not participate. He remained in his tent, unmoving as reports were passed to him of the day's events. He was still determined to get Agamemnon to grovel on his hands and knees for his return.

Panthea visited him often, splitting her time between Achilles and Menelaus' areas of the camp. Marriage was proposed, but had not been finalized between the two great warriors. Menelaus was still wary of Achilles, just as any father would be concerned about the marriage of their daughter. Achilles was a great man, a warrior, a god in some people's eyes. However, there was a thought nagging him in the back of his mind. He knew Achilles had been a womanizer. He was a womanizer himself and he had paid for his misdeeds against his wife. She was with Paris now. Menelaus could not help, but feel Achilles was to make the same mistake as him.

Sitting on the beach beside his tent, Menelaus watches as dawn appears over the horizon. His face is grim as the stress of war has taken over. Agamemnon and he had still not made peace, yet he sent his troops every day to fight in the war if they chose to. He would not deter them from their glory. The men are still sleeping, their master the only one awake at that hour. Panthea was sleeping within Menelaus' tent, her eyelids fluttering as the morning sun filtered through the openings of the tent flap and onto her face. Menelaus watches with gentleness in his eyes, wishing Agamemnon had not brought them here for his greed. Panthea did not deserve to be here, stuck in a war camp with thousands of soldiers who looked at her like a piece of meat. Her name was the only thing that kept her safe. If she was not his daughter and the almost betrothed of Achilles, she would have been used for the men's' pleasure immediately. He cringed at the thought, feeling sick that mankind could do such a thing, sick that he had once been a young, lusty soldier who did do those things.

On the other side of the camp, Achilles is also awake, staring at the woman in his bed. His hands rake through his golden mane as he scans her body, making comparisons between her and Panthea. Panthea had the palest skin, the woman's skin was a tan color. Panthea's curls are a unique white-blond color while her opposite has straight black hair. The woman's eyes are sharp silver while Panthea's are a definite blue. The woman has a thicker substance to her, curves that most women envied, whereas his little warrior was blessed with an hourglass figure, no extra flesh and a lean body. Panthea was outspoken, gifted with a sword, and headstrong in all things. The whore was quiet, rarely raised her voice, and was compliant in all things. However, there was one main difference that stood out. Panthea had not complied to Achilles' sexual needs while his whore did everything he wanted without batting an eyelash. She practically worshipped him and begged him with those large eyes of hers to take her whenever Panthea was there. It bothered him to no end, but he still gave in.

Achilles was angered with himself, trying to breathe deeply and take control over himself. His biceps tightened as he continuously ran his fingers through his hair, practically ripping it out from the roots. Grabbing a chalice filled with wine, he drank heavily, trying to drown out the thoughts in his head. He needed to get out of their before he made the same mistake. He needed to get out of Troy. He abruptly rose from his position, lifting the flaps of the tent and stepping onto the sandy beach. The sun blinded his eyes for a moment before he became accustomed to it.

Spotting Eudorus, he makes his way towards the man who bows respectfully as he is approached. "Have the men start loading the ship. We're going home." Eudorus' eyes widen at his lord's words, but he says nothing and goes to tell the other Myrmidons of Achilles' orders. Meanwhile, Achilles has gone to sit with Odysseus who is lounging on one of the various rocks on the beach. He holds out his own cup which Achilles clinks against his own in greeting to his friend.

"You look exhausted my friend. What has happened? I know it can't be the strain of battle wearing down on you. You haven't even fought yet." Odysseus is genuinely concerned, but there is still a hint of humor in his voice. Achilles stays silent, drinking from his cup and staring out at the sea. How he wished he could be one of the seagulls flying over the waves or one of the fish swimming in the water. "Is it Panthea?" Odysseus questions, patting his friend on the shoulder.

Achilles shakes his head in response before speaking. "Do you miss your wife; do you miss Penelope?" There is an unrecognizable tone in Achilles' voice which Odysseus smiles at.

"Of course, I do. I always miss her." Odysseus cannot help, but miss his wife. She had just given birth to his son. Of course, he wanted to be with her, be with his family. War became more complicated when you had a family.

"What if you hurt her, unintentionally?" Achilles questions. Odysseus is shocked at the man's words. Achilles did have a heart for women after all.

"Well, I would do everything in my power to prove to her that I loved her and that I was sorry for my faults against her. Why?" Odysseus scrutinizes Achilles as the warrior continues to bare a blank expression on his face.

"Nothing. Never mind. What have you come here for? I know it just wasn't to make small talk like old women." Odysseus smirks at his friend's words, but then, he turns serious as he carries out the task Agamemnon had bestowed on him some months ago. He had previously tried to discuss the matter with Achilles, but the man would ignore him. Maybe this time he would listen instead of being stubborn and pigheaded.

"Agamemnon is a proud man. But he knows when he's made a mistake," Odysseus speaks. Achilles rolls his eyes at his friend's words. Odysseus would try and use his words to manipulate the warrior to comply with Agamemnon's wants.

"The man sends you to make his apologies? What are you doing in thrall to that pig of a king?" Achilles cannot contemplate how Odysseus continually submits himself to Agamemnon's rule and does his begging for him. It was disgusting and made Odysseus look like a common dog.

The wind blows gently through Odysseus' sandy brown hair as he contemplates his next words. "The world seems simple to you, my friend. But when you're a king, very few choices are simple. Ithaca cannot afford an enemy like Agamemnon." Odysseus was speaking like a true king, while Achilles still had much to learn from his inexperience. Yes, Achilles was a king, but his kingdom was not as known as Odysseus'. Besides, Achilles was a renown warrior, few would dare challenge him.

"Am I supposed to fear him?" Achilles raises his eyebrows as he speaks, his voice low. He would never fear such a laughable king. He sips generously from his chalice before turning his attention back to Odysseus.

"You don't fear anyone, that's your problem. Fear is useful." Odysseus pauses for a moment as his words sink in. "We need you back. Greece needs you," he pleads with Achilles.

"Greece got along fine before I was born and Greece will be Greece long after I'm dead," Achilles answers. He cares not for Greece, only for himself and his Myrmidons in this war.

"I'm not talking about the land. The men need you." The men are the most important thing in this war to Achilles. They look to Achilles for hope and without a hero to look up on, there was no morale and little cheer among the troops. "Stay, Achilles. You were born for this war." Odysseus trusts his words will work, for the men's sake, they have to convince Achilles of his worth in this war.

Achilles takes a long, hard look at Odysseus. "Things are less simple today."

"Women have a way of complicating things." Achilles smiles and turns to Odysseus, clasping his hand.

"Of all the kings of Greece, I respect you most." Achilles leans back, the tenseness gone from his body. "But in this war, you're a servant." Achilles would never submit himself to Agamemnon, even if it killed him.

"Sometimes you need to serve in order to lead. I hope you understand that one day." Odysseus speaks with such wisdom that even Achilles sometimes forgets the man is only five years older than him. Odysseus can be manipulative with words, but he can also be eloquent. He rises from his seat, patting Achilles once more on the back before returning to his men. The golden warrior watches as he leaves, Patroclus approaching.

Patroclus looks more than upset as he stands in front of his cousin. His forehead is creased in irritation, making him look several years older than his ripe age of 18. "We're going home?" he questions, appalled that his cousin wants to leave at such an imperative time.

"We sail in the morning," Achilles responds, unflinching at his cousin's reaction. His face is calm and relaxed, the complete opposite of Patroclus' heated face.

"Greeks are being slaughtered. We can't just sail away." Patroclus is determined to stay, even if his cousin disagrees.

"If it's fighting you still long for, there will always be another war." Achilles is irritated with Patroclus' "green" attitude. He knows nothing of war, nor the consequences. Rising from his seat, Achilles domineering being intimidates Patroclus, but that does not deter him from his speech.

"These are our countrymen. You betray all of Greece just to see Agamemnon fall." His words confirm what Achilles has feared: Patroclus is still not ready for war. Achilles does care for his countrymen, but he will not fight for an unworthy cause that could end up taking his men's lives.

"Someone has to lose." Achilles words are final and puts an end to the cousins' conversation as Achilles' stalks intensely into his tent. A rift has occurred in the Myrmidon camp.

Alone in her chambers, Helen stands on the balcony overlooking Troy, the soft breeze blowing through her golden waves. She watches the bustling of the city below, wishing she could be one of the common folk for just a moment in her life. Even though a war was going on, daily life still occurred in the city as if death was not already surrounding it. Troy still received emissaries from various other countries, joyous marriages were celebrated, the mourning at funerals occurred, the happy birth of a child was announced, business transactions were often, children still played in the streets, women still gossiped about the happenings of the court, everything was changed, but unchanged in a sense.

Paris has now fully recovered from the wound Menelaus delivered so brutally all that time ago. The stitches are no longer needed as the skin has healed, leaving a white scar. It is still painful to walk, but the couple takes small walks in the gardens daily so Paris can regain his strength. He is currently lounging on a chaise in their room, polishing the sword of Troy. He is so determined to redeem himself in battle when he is well enough that he certainly looks as if he is worshipping the weapon itself, hoping it will lead him in battle when the time comes.

Suddenly, a great eagle appears out of the sky and perches itself on the sill next to Helen. She does not move, even when its sends her a piercing look, as if it is almost human in the way it is studying her. It is somehow familiar to her and calms her tense nerves. Reaching out, her hand is shaking as she goes to pet the soft feathers of the majestic bird. It lets her, not screeching or biting her as her fingers run over the feathers. Somehow, she knows it is a sign from Zeus, her so-called father. Helen remembers the stories, how she and her sister were born from eggs. It was not true, but somehow she knew she was not Tyndareus' daughter. It was the way he looked at her, as if she had blessed him with her presence. Perhaps she was descended from the gods. After all, she was stroking an eagle, the symbol of Zeus.

The eagle remains silent and unmoving as Helen continues her task, paying close attention to the way the bird is fearless unlike so many other birds. Removing her hand, it falls silent at her side. She watches the eagle as it then ruffles its feathers and take off into the open, blue sky. Oh, how she wished she could fly like the bird, be free from all the chaos taking over her world. If she had the gift of flight could she not find her daughter and bring her back to Troy?

The thought alone makes Helen weep, for she missed Panthea dearly. Her daughter's birthday had come and passed, the most important age in a girl's life, for isn't sixteen the entrance into womanhood? Helen was already a mother by the age of sixteen, already declared a woman because of her status as a mother and a queen. Panthea was not married and now, Helen's poor child was stuck in a camp filled with brutal, hormonal men. If she was not married before the war, she would be married now for no one knew how long the Greeks would stay until Agamemnon either achieved his quest or failed miserably.

A knock at the door startles Helen and she looks over her shoulder to see Andromache in the doorway. To Helen, Andromache was a mousy looking woman. There were no qualities which stood out to her other than her humility and kindness. Helen of course was thankful for the woman's hospitality, but she envied her for the relationship she had formed with her daughter. Helen had not reconciled with Panthea yet and to have seen them acting so familiar with each other had made her blood boil. Paris does not move from his position, but smiles at his sister-in-law before focusing on his work, leaving Helen to talk to the woman.

"Is there something you have come here for, Andromache?" Helen is not rude, but her voice is monotone and bored, as if Andromache's presence is nothing special to her. The Trojan princess does not notice, but makes her way towards Helen to strike up a conversation.

"King Priam is sending out emissaries to bargain with the Greeks for Panthea's safe return. Now that he has seen she is unharmed, he would like to keep it that way and persuade Menelaus to return Panthea for safekeeping. Her place is not in that camp. There are little women there and they are not respectable." Andromache informs Helen of what Hector has told her. His endless hours of meetings are filled with political matters and war strategies that tire him constantly. He returns to their chambers exhausted, having been up at dawn to fight and not being able to relax until the stroke of midnight.

"He won't give her back." Helen turns her back on Andromache to gaze out on the city again, her hands holding the ledge of the balcony tightly. Andromache joins her, unacknowledging the woman's cold behavior. It does not deter her, but makes her want to reach out even more and comfort the once queen of Sparta.

"Perhaps he will. We can only hope the gods will favor our plea." Andromache smiles gently at Helen, trying to lighten her spirits.

"The only way Menelaus would return Panthea is if his life was at risk or if Agamemnon handed her over, both of which are unlikely scenarios." Helen's words are mocking as she addresses Andromache, tired of the woman's constant cheerfulness. Didn't she understand it was impossible for Panthea to return, unless she did so on her own?

Andromache then goes to place her hand over Helen's in a soothing manner, but the Spartan woman yanks her hand backward as if Andromache's touch is like a curse. "Please leave." Her icy tone shocks the other woman.

"But Helen..." Andromache murmurs.

"I said leave." The sharp look in Helen's eyes catches Andromache off guard. "You want my daughter back, but you know literally nothing about her. How long have you known her? A few months? And you think you have some type of claim over her? She's my daughter, not yours, so stop trying to be. It's not appropriate behavior for the future Queen of Troy."

Andromache delivered a harsh remark right back to Helen. "And your behavior was less than appropriate when you lay with another man when you were married." That caught Paris' attention immediately, halting his work as he looked at the two warring women. "I'll leave not because I want to, but because I know when I'm not wanted, even when I'm trying to help." Andromache turned swiftly on foot and exited the chamber, the slam of the door echoing through the room. Helen appeared as if she would burn the doors down with the raging fire in her usually cheery blue eyes.

Seeing Paris' sympathetic glance, Helen turns back to the city and tries to get her mind off the conversation her sister-in-law had started. She knew Paris was not mad at her, but was giving her space to cool off. She did not like pitiful looks being thrown at her. Paris knew this and did not crush her with affection as some would think. Instead of dwelling on the matter, Helen looked out onto the horizon, wondering what Panthea was doing at that moment.

Barefoot, Panthea makes her way through the hot sand on the Trojan beach, the train of her peplos dragging behind her. Her father's guards followed behind her, armed to protect their master's heir. One of them carried her sandals in their hands, the other grinning cheekily at him. Both were of young age, eager for battle, and eager to please their king. To Panthea, they were barely men, but they did provide some entertainment for her when she trained. They were in awe of her skill with a sword and learned from the princess herself.

Trudging through the camp, Panthea passes her uncle, neither stopping to acknowledge him or bow as he passed with Nestor. Agamemnon ignored the gesture, continuing his way to survey the troops after battle that day. Nestor nodded his head to the princess, appalled at his comrade's childish behavior. Each group carried on in their separate directions, the king to his men and Panthea to the Myrmidons' part of camp.

Reaching her destination, Panthea smiled as she watched Patroclus spar with Eudorus. Achilles was nowhere in sight which was quite odd, but she did not question it. Perhaps he was in his tent polishing his weapons as he often did when she visited. She watched for a moment, clapping when Eudorus disarmed Patroclus as he made an easy mistake in his footing. The two men had not noticed her until that moment and when Eudorus spotted her, his face turned pale. Patroclus looked as if someone had caught him stealing and stared at the ground, kicking the sand up with his feet.

"Panthea," Eudorus spoke, "I was not aware you were coming this morning." He looked nervous, his eyes darting back and forth between the princess and Achilles' tent. Panthea laughed at his words, wondering why he was acting so. "Perhaps you'd like to join us, knowing how much you'd like to spar with Patroclus." Panthea shook her head as a no.

"Perhaps later," Panthea answered, "I'd like to see Achilles. Is he here or is he with Lord Odysseus now?" Eudorus did not answer immediately, his throat dry. The sound of the waves crashing on the beach blocked out his words as he spoke and Panthea had to move closer to hear. However, his answer was again obstructed by another noise, a most familiar yet unwanted noise. Panthea's body spun towards the sound, of which had elicited itself from Achilles' tent. It was the same sound she had made a countless number of times in Achilles' arms. It frightened her as she walked closer, reaching her hand out to lift the tent flap.

"Panthea," Eudorus whispered. The Spartan princess turned her head towards the soldier, the expression of Eudorus' face revealing all. Patroclus couldn't even look at her, his back facing her and his front facing the ocean. He was ashamed of his cousin's actions when he found out about the deceit and now he was disappointed in himself for not having told Panthea the truth before she was hurt.

Taking in a deep breath of air, Panthea procured the courage to confront what she was about to see and entered the tent silently. Moving her body against the wall of the tent, neither of the occupants noticed when she went in. It took a few seconds before her eyes acclimated themselves to the dim lighting within, but when they did, she wished she had never seen what she did in that moment. The sight was so repulsive, it made her want to scream.

Before her, Achilles lay on his downy bed, a woman with black hair beneath him. He was settled between her thighs, licking a trail up the soft skin of her abdomen to the column of her throat. The woman beneath him gave out a small giggle as she rocked her hips up to meet his. She eyed him seductively as she reached between his own legs, making him groan against her shoulder. Roughly, he flipped her over onto her stomach and spread her legs apart as he leaned back on his haunches, aligning himself with her entrance. He delivered a rough smack to her bottom, the woman moaning beneath him, as he forcefully mounted her in one hard thrust. He gripped her thighs tightly as he thrust into her harshly, the woman trying to grip anything near her to hold on to as he continued his wild pace. Gentleness was not present as the animal within craved raw, rough sex. He pulled her hair firmly, making her yelp in pain as well as pleasure as he ground into her, his teeth gritting as he released inside her. He collapsed on top of the woman who was recovering from his brutal treatment of her as well as coming down from her own high.

Pushing off the bed, Achilles lay down on his back next to her as he sighed deeply in satisfaction. He had craved his release more than anything and called for the woman urgently for her services before he did something drastic when Panthea was near. Running his hands over his face in frustration, he turns his head to the side, opening his closed eyes when he hears crying.

Sitting up, Achilles is alarmed to see Panthea at the entrance of his domain, her eyes boring into his guilty ones. He is sparked into action immediately and goes to stand up quickly, but his nakedness prevents him from moving as he searches for his chiton to cover his body. He is panicking inside as he eyes dart around the room, looking for the single piece of clothing. His heart beats so loudly in his chest that he can barely hear himself think.

"Does she want to join?" the woman questions, not realizing what was occurring. She couldn't help it. She was submitted to a life of servitude, of prostitution, of subordination to men and she thought Panthea had been chained to the same life as herself. Achilles silences her with a single, severe look, making the woman gulp audible and cover herself, her eyes downcast.

Achilles spots the hidden garment, wrapping it around his waist frantically, his eyes never leaving Panthea. Her body is still pressed against the side of the tent, but she has sunk to her knees, shaking uncontrollably with hot tears trickling down her face. Achilles does not know whether to make his way towards her or remain where he is. His jaw is tense and his gaze is dark with emotions unknown as his licks his lips with nervousness. Hesitantly, he takes a step towards Panthea who abruptly rises from her position and holds an arm out in warning.

"No," Panthea cries, her hand trembling in devastation. Achilles does not listen and continues towards her, but Panthea backs away towards the exit of the tent.

"Panthea," Achilles speaks, "Please, listen to me." His tone is begging with her to listen to his plea. Panthea shakes her head, the tears clouding her eyes. She rushes from the tent, her feet tangling in her peplos and making her fall on the sand. She does not move, she is too overcome with grief. Her hands dig into the sand as her cries rack her body with anguish. The other Myrmidons all watch her with pity, knowing what she has discovered.

Achilles has followed Panthea out of the tent, viewing her breakdown as the other men have. He eyes them all, ordering them to return to their respective posts so he can solely focus on Panthea. Panthea's guards disappear as well, scared by the infamous warrior's stare. Guilt and shame are the main feelings traveling through his body as he stares at the broken woman in front of him. Eudorus and Patroclus are the only two that remain, Eudorus looking at Panthea with such morose while Patroclus glares heatedly at his cousin.

Reaching out, Achilles attempts to lift Panthea up from the ground and into his arms, but she slaps his hand away and glowers at him with such intensity that he halts his actions.

"Do not touch me," Panthea spits out from her gritted teeth. Her tone is deadly serious as she pushes herself off the ground, not minding that sand is covering her entire body. She is the epitome of brokenness. Her hair is tangled like a bird's nest, her eyes red and raw from crying, her body covered in dirt, her being shaken from betrayal. Achilles just stands their motionless, watching Panthea keenly for her next move.

"You're nothing, but a coward." Achilles is taken aback by the words, his eyebrows furrowing with bewilderment. "You're not a warrior or a god as many men perceive you. You're just a man and a coward at that for not telling me. Many say the truth will set you free and by the gods, what I have seen has prevented me from chaining myself to you for all eternity."

"Panthea." Achilles tries once more time to convince his little warrior to let him explain his actions, raising his hand to her arm in solace as he nears her being. She strikes him furiously across his perfectly chiseled face, a strong hit for such a small woman. His face remains turned to the side, a red mark appearing and besmirching his godly features. He deserved it, deep down in his heart he knew he did, though at that moment, he was only filled with anger at her behavior.

Yanking her forward, Achilles grips her wrists tightly in his hands, the beast within coming forth. Panthea is too frightened to anything. She neither struggles nor cries for help. Patroclus steps forward to protect her, but Achilles sends him a warning glance that makes him halt in his actions. Bringing his lips to Panthea's ear, he begins to whisper, "You will never hit me in front of my men again. Do you understand me?" Panthea remains silent, ignoring the question. He shakes her violently, making her cry even harder. "Do you understand me?" he asks again, practically yelling in her face. Panthea nods her head in answer before wrenching her body away from his being.

"I hate you," Panthea cries, rushing away from the king of the Myrmidons and back towards her father's camp. Her mother had been right and in the end and all she got was a broken heart, and a tainted body touched by man. With her arms wrapped around her, Panthea did not look back as she tramped back through the sand and away from the breaker of hearts.

Achilles stood there, a shattered man of his former self. He had caused his misery and now, Panthea seemed to be lost forever. With her disappearing from sight, he finally let a single tear fall down his face as he dropped to his knees. He was just like Icarus, he had flown too close to the sun, a sun of temptation and lust. He had burned and now he was going to the underworld for his faults. He had fallen, just as many warriors had. There stood Achilles, a fallen warrior, ruined by the champion of the gods.

The Trojan council sits in the meeting hall, the reflective pool separating two rows of men. The torch light flickers over each man's face, similar expressions of eagerness on all. The statues of the gods stand watch over the group, their reflections present in the reflective pool beneath their feet.

Priam's head priest speaks first. "The gods favor our cause. Now is the time to destroy the Greek army." Yells of agreement echo throughout the hall.

General Glaucus then stands and delivers a more convincing speech. "Their morale is battered. Hit them now. Hit them hard. And they will run." Now the Trojan men stand on their feet and clap as they cheer for the warrior's words.

Hector steps forward from his position next to his father's throne. His eyes are red and weary with exhaustion, his face covered in scars from the constant battles he endured. Priam watches his son as he walks to the edge of the reflective pool. "The Myrmidons didn't fight yesterday, they didn't fight the week before. They haven't fought since the beginning of this war. There must be dissension among the Greeks. But if we attack their ships, we will unify them." His voice is grave as he speaks, staring at each one of the men individually to convey his message. "If they decide to attack us, let them. Our walls can't be breached. We'll beat them back again." Some men nod their heads in agreement, others shake their head and disagree. Turning his back on the Trojan court, he turns to his father to consider his plea. "Yesterday, the Greeks underestimated us. We should not return the favor."

Priam stands from his throne, the decorative jewels around his neck and on his clothes shining brightly in the firelight. He never looked so kingly, his wise blue eyes staring through Hector and at his courtiers. "You're confident about the meaning of these omens?" he asks his head priest.

"The desecration of his temple angers Apollo. The gods have cursed the Greeks," replies the priest.

"Prepare the army. We attack at daybreak." Priam addresses Hector who widens his eyes in bewilderment. He cannot believe what his father has said. His father may have wanted to show his supremacy, but he was going about it the wrong way. Lives were at stake now, including his own, as he began to prepare the troops.

Blending in with the shadows, a woman made her way through Greek camp. Concealed beneath her cloak, she tiptoed through the sand and passed several guards who all nodded at her in respect. The only sound was waves crashing on the shore and the chirping of crickets as the Spartan princess made her way towards Odysseus' camp.

When Panthea reached her destination, two guards stood watch at the entrance to Odysseus' tent, both bowing to the princess. She did not wait to be announced, but instead entered the tent boldly. Odysseus did not seem surprised by her presence, barely batting an eyelash as he continued eating from a platter. The woman from earlier was waiting on him, blushing when she saw Panthea. She did not know how to act, especially because of the event that had occurred earlier. Odysseus dismissed her with a wave of his hand, the woman scurrying off before Panthea could verbally rip into her.

"So, are you sharing her now?" Panthea questioned. Odysseus did not answer. "Do you trade her with another for each other' pleasure?" The King of Ithaca merely sighed, rubbing his hand across his bearded jaw. He kept quiet for a moment, his grey eyes meeting Panthea's with pity. He rose from his position, walking towards Panthea and placing his large hands on her shoulders in comfort.

"I did not know either Panthea. We were both left in the dark." Panthea couldn't meet Odysseus' eyes now, ashamed of her rash behavior towards him. Placing a finger under her chin, Odysseus lifted her face to meet his.

"I promise you are not the only woman who has been betrayed in this way. I for one was very disloyal to my first wife, my wife before Penelope. She died very young from some unknown sickness. When she died, I felt as if my life had ended. She forgave me for all my wrongdoings against her because of the goodness in her heart, because she loved me." Odysseus paused for a moment, thinking of Melora, his first wife. They were both very young when they were married. She was devoted entirely to Odysseus while he dallied around with other women. She turned a blind eye to his affairs and always welcomed him back with open arms. Their marriage was brief, only three years, but in that time Odysseus grew to a man. "I learned that day she died that infidelity was one of the greatest sins I could possibly commit and so when I married Penelope, I took a vow to never lay with another for I would cherish her always. Achilles will learn this. I am sure of it." He pressed a kiss to Panthea's forehead and gave her a small smile, which she returned.

"Perhaps," Panthea stated. Odysseus nodded at her words.

"Now my dear princess, I think you should return to your father's quarters before he realizes you are missing." Odysseus' tone was humorous, bringing light to Panthea's once darkened features of anger. He bowed to her whilst Panthea turned back to the exit of the tent, sending him one last look before she disappeared into the night.

A/N: Some parts of this chapter do not add up to the movie as I changed these parts to fit my storyline better. Also, Odysseus did not have any other wife than Penelope. Some parts of the story are added to fit with what I write. Please review!