Chapter 26:

Paris pulled back the tent flap and stared out toward the sea. Or, more to the point, toward Achilles. She had long since abandoned her futile battle with the sea and now just knelt in the surf, letting the waves crash around her, her sword held listlessly in her hands. All the soot had been washed from her skin and left her appearing remarkably pale as she stared, unseeing, toward the horizon.

To his right Paris saw a group of Myrmidons walking toward the camp, two carrying a body wrapped in dark blue cloth between them. They placed the body in the centre of the camp and as they stepped away the wind blew back the cloth, revealing the face Paris had seen more than once alive and well walking aruond the camp. Patroclus. And even from where he stood Paris could clearly see the ugly gash in his throat where his brother had cut him down.

He knew Hector better than most and knew he would not have fought if he had known who he had been battling against. The grief and guilt would be eating away at him still. But that didn't stop the pang of blame and accusation he aimed at his brother when he looked upon Patroclus' white face.

Bef ore he even made the decision to move from the tent Paris found himself walking toward the body. He was vaguely aware of a few observing Myrmidons but didn't let them distract him. Swallowing his revulsion at being so close to a corpse, something he had never done in his whole life, Paris took a moment of solemn silence to think over everything that had happened. He offered up a silent prayer to the gods for them to watch over the boy, to grant him the peace in the next life he had been unable to find in this one. He then reached out a trembling hand and closed the boy's still half-opened eyes.

He blinked back tears and rose to his feet, heartsick but determined. He walked toward the surf, his eyes trained on the fallen warrior. When he reached her he said her name softly, hoping to draw her attention away from the dark thoughts spinning through her head. She gave no response for long moments and Paris was about to repeat her name when she blinked heavily and slowly turned her head toward him. Meeting her eyes was like looking into his own grave. There was nothing there, not a spark, shimmer or gleam; there was just death. And it was frightening. He stood there motionless, just staring into her eyes trying to see something other than the desolate misery that appeared to be consuming her.

When he became certain there was nothing more to see he could not stay silent. "They have brought the boy back to the camp. I thought..." he trailed off, not sure if she would want him to say more. But when she made no move to stop him he continued. "I thought you would wish to begin preparations for his funeral. It may help ease the pain of his loss."

She blinked again, feeling like she was a million miles from the voice she was hearing. Who was he to say what would ease her pain? He had never suffered the death of someone close to him. Only solitude would help and his presence, even his silent presence, was ruining any chance of that. She wanted to tell him to go away, to leave her in peace and not bother her any more. But something in his eyes stopped her.

This wasn't respect he was showing. He wasn't here because he needed a leader to take charge. He was merely here because he was concerned for her. If she wanted to stay where she was he would let her. He wasn't trying to tell her what he felt she 'should' be doing, only what he thought she might 'want' to do. There was a dramatic difference and the compassion it displayed touched something deep inside her, something no one had touched in a long, long time.

With this realisation she found she did in fact want to prepare to send Patroclus on his way across the Styx. It was the least she could do for allowing him to come to harm here when it should have been her to face the Trojan Prince that morning. The picture of her baby cousin being ruthlessly cut down by such a strong, skilled warrior assaulted her yet again only this time, being faced with Paris' deep, soulfull brown eyes, she felt her own eyes start to burn with the first tears she had shed in the gods only knew how long. Two plump drops dribbled down her cheeks before she could stop them and before she knew what was happening she was having to swallow a lump in her throat and bite her bottom lip to stop its quivering. She broke from his gaze and fixed her eyes on the horizon, hiding her emotion from him and silently telling him to leave her alone.

He knew he was taking his life in his hands but he hesitantly approached her, ignoring her subtle dismissal. Dropping to his knees by her side he gently placed his left arm round her shoulders, ready to spring back if she lashed out, but she surprised him. She raised her right hand and tenderly grasped his left, lacing her fingers with his as she gazed steadily across the sea with eyes that were oh-so sad.

Achilles blinked heavily and two more tears fell. Turning her head she looked at him again, his face so much closer this time. From this close she could clearly see the split swelling of his lip and immediately felt a pang of guilt. With her left hand she reached out ad cupped his face, brushing her thumb over the small wound regretfully. Yet another mistake. Another way she had hurt someone that meant so much to her. But at least this was something she could make up for.

"I am sorry, Paris," she said quietly, uttering the words no mortal but her mother had ever heard her speak. "I should not have struck you." She registered mild astonishment on his face and at any other time would have smiled at it. "Forgive me."

Grasping her left hand with is right he placed a kiss on her palm. "I never blamed you."

Without thinking she leaned in a pressed her mouth to his. Paris went to pull back but she put her hand on the back of his neck, holding him close and shivering when he returned the kiss passionately, instantly sparking the hunger between them that could only end one way.

She reluctantly broke the kiss and got shakily to her feet, taking hold of Paris' tunic and gently encouraging him to follow her. When he stood he wrapped an arm round her waist and caressed the soft skin of her hip as they walked toward her tent.

A warning went off in the back of her mind that told her not to show such weakness in front of the men but she no longer cared. She was hurting, her heart bruised and aching, and nothing she could do would conceal the fact. She needed this, of only for a little while, because if today had proved one thing to her it was this.

As much as she wanted Paris, she could not keep him.

I would apologise for my 6 month disappearing act but what good will it do?lol. Thanks of you've stuck with me for this long. Goodness knows I would be more than ticked off by now. Real life kind of robbed me of all desire to do anything but mope. As much as I hate to admit it I honestly didn't care if I ever finished this story or not. I'd love to know what changed my mind but I haven't a clue. So here we are, with two new chapters and more on the way. I can't say when I'll have the next one up but I've got pretty much unlimited computer access till Tuesday so if all goes well...

Anyway, hope you're still enjoying it. Thanks so much to those of you who reviewed. Let's me know I'm not talking to myself. :) Take care and I will speak to you very soon.