You probably aren't that bothered with why it's taken me ages to update () but here's the list of excuses anyway. Wouldn't be me if I didn't at least try and explain. Well, I've moved house, joined a rock band, all but lost my job so I'm looking for another one, and my dog was hit by a van last week so I've been looking after him. Trying to get a 2 year old cocker spaniel to stay still when he's bored isn't overly easy. but it's keeping me on my toes!lol.
This chapter's a bit longer than usual cos I couldn't really think of a good place to stop. I've got the rest of this story and a sequel roughly planned in my head and now I'm finally getting organised I should be able to just crack on with it. I have literally only just finished typing this one up, haven't had a chance to read it back or anything and there are a few bits I'm not overly happy with. If you read anything that you think could be done better please let me know and I'll try again. I tried to take my time but I'm starting to get all excited about finishing the movieverse and at last getting to my own stuff so if some sounds a little rushed tell me to get my act together. :)
The sun had long since set but the Trojans hadn't even thought of ending the celebration until the last of the wine had been drunk and the last of the fires had burned down to the cinders. Achilles had drifted into an exhausted doze around twilight, her fist tight around the hilt of her sword. She didn't trust these men not to slip a blade between her ribs while she slept and jerked awake to the sound of creaking wood and shuffling feet. But they weren't looking at her. The Greek soldiers were focused on the deserted Trojan courtyard.
Temporarily free from the glares of hatred and silent death wishes Achilles cast a brief glance toward the balcony through the crack in the planks but saw nothing but marble pillars. Not a soul stired in the darkness. For that she was thankful. The longer it was before the alarm was raised, the bigger head start Achilles would have over the waiting army.
She tensed herself in readiness and waited for the men to pull aside the loose planks. Listening intently she counted the sounds of quiet feet landing on trampled ground until almost all where out before opening her own exit and smoothly gliding down a rope from the horses head to land almost silently at its feet. Every muscle in her body was tense and she expected the shouts to start at any moment. But the Trojan guards were completely unaware, lulled into a deep, untroubled sleep by wine and victory. They heard nothing of the Greeks till the bronze swords were thrust into their flesh and by then it was too late to make a sound.
Achilles watched for a few moments and was amazed at the disgust she felt for these soldiers who had been her brothers only yesterday. What honour was there in butchering the helpless? At least give them a chance, let them up and give them a sword rather than gutting them on the floor like animals. All remaining respect she had for these men evapourated and all she wanted to do was get them out of her sight. So with a pang of regret she turned her back on the slaughter and made for her only goal. The Palace.
Odysseus saw a flash of gold in the corner of his eye and turned to see Achilles leaving. His fury and hurt came at him in a rush, descending in a red haze, and before he had given it a thought he had lifted a hand and signaled his five best men. Without a word he pointed after her, silently gestured for stealth and watched as they smirked to one another before giving chase.
Behind him the huge gates of the city creaked and groaned as the heavy hinges were swung inward, exposing the vulnerable Trojan streets to the eager, hungry Greek army.
Achilles' stride faltered at the first of the screams and she skidded to a halt. She had heard screams just like these countless times and yet now... now it made her want to turn around and defend these people who had no idea their homes were about to be raised to the ground, their families executed before their very eyes.
She looked around, at the buildings and temples and market stalls cleared and covered for the night, and saw them for what they were. Not property to be bought, sold or stolen, but homes. Paris' home. The screams and shrieks of terror, the smoke she could already smell in the air, didn't just mean the fall of Troy and victory for the Greeks, but the destruction of everything Paris knew and loved. His whole life was being stolen from him and it was her countrymen that did it. Achilles was ashamed.
She jerked round at the sound of clanking armour and realised the rest of the army had caught her up, bypassing the outskirts and heading for the centre, where the larger houses and richer families lived. She stepped back into a doorway out of sight and let them overtake her. Seeing their faces, the glee with which they attacked the city around them snapped her back into focus. She was here for a reason, not just to observe.
So she left the shadows and dived into the chaos, leaving the flames and the blood and the screaming behind her. She could do nothing for these people and was not arrogant enough to think she could take on the whole of Agamemnon's army and live to save the one she was here for. No, she had her mission and would see it through. Even if it killed her.
Men and women cried out and dived out of her way, clutching their children to them protectively when they saw her running with her sword drawn but she barely noticed. Her eyes scanned the surrounding Greek faces for any that would hinder her but saw nothing. Turning a corner she followed the flow of men up a wide stone staircase, her lighter step overtaking their heavy lumbering easily. When at the top she hesitated, looking left and right, and was brought to a standstill by the simplest of details.
She didn't know the way. From where she stood she could see nothing but the closest buildings and rooftops. Cursing under her breath she chose left and ran.
His heart was almost as heavy as his armour. Paris, sword and bow in hand, tried his best to appear focused as he followed Andromache and Hector through the palace to the garden. But his mind was elsewhere. Behind him he could hear Helen and Lysander walking, guiding the women and children. He should have felt something at seeing her with another man but there was nothing. Not a pang, not a twinge, nothing. Just... relief.
Despite their relationship becoming one of close friendship he had still felt guilt at his almost-infidelity with Achilles. So seeing that another man made her happy (he could even admit she looked happier than when she had been with him) he could only be pleased.
But that wasn't what he thought of now.
Now he could only think of Achilles, her disappearance and how much he worried for her. Where was she? Had she hidden with the Greeks or did she really leave? She had given her word that he would see her again but could he really expect her to stay and risk her life when faced with such an oportunity to get away? He couldn't be sure. So while he walked his eyes were constantly moving, his ears constantly straining for any sign of her. But the further they walked and the closer they got to the hidden escape the further his hope drifted. Maybe she had abandoned them to their fate after all.
The screams were making her dizzy. She was hot, tired and frantic and the smoke from the burning buildings was making her eyes sting. Ascending a flight of stairs she reached a courtyard that looked remarkably like the last three courtyards she had run through. She turned a slow circle for anything to point her in the right direction and was just about to dart down a street to her right when a flash of familiar armour caught her eye. She stared after the retreating figure with frown of disbelief. Could it really be that easy?
Twirling her sword round her hand in anticipation she followed Agamemnon at a discrete distance, determined not to be seen until she was ready. He disappeared into the dark interior of what had to have beens the grandest temple she had seen since entering the city. Well, it had been before the Greeks arrived. Even as she stood there soldiers were pulling the statues down, stealing the gold and destroying anything they could lay their hands on. And in the midst of all that was an old man dressed in fine robes, absolutely beside himself at what was being done. "Priam," she said to herself then saw Agamemnon advancing on the man's back, spear in hand. She started forward to go his aid but before she could take half a dozen steps it was too late.
"Have you no honour?!" Priam cried, unheeded by the soldiers who continued to ransack the temple and steal anything not nailed down. The old king raised his sword in fury but before he could bring in down Agamemnon had struck, thrusting the bronze tipped spear through his turned back so hard Achilles could hear the man's ribs snapping from where she stood, frozen with rage. Priam collapsed to the marble floor with a gasp of shock.
How dare he behave with such cowardice! Cutting him down without the honour and courage to look him in the eye as he did so! Achilles had believed she hated him before, but that was nothing to the utter disgust and contempt she held for him now, watching him callously wrench the spear free and step over the fallen king, leaving him to die in the already spreading puddle of his own blood.
Agamemnon walked toward a doorway at the rear of the temple without a backward glance, which suited Achilles just fine as she sheathed her sword and started after him, intent on taking her time pummeling him long before she ended his miserable life.
But as she also walked past Priam lying on the floor she felt his cold, wrinkled hand try to grab weakly at her ankle. She tried not to look but her eyes glanced down at him before she could pull away. His skin was already turning grey and his breath rattled in his throat. Recognition sparked behind his dull, tired eyes and his grasp became slightly firmer.
With a frown Achilles looked back up at Agamemnon's retreating figure, wanting with everything in her to take this chance which may be the only one she was ever offered, to punish the man that had made so many years of her life an unbearable misery. She even took half a step forward. But the groan of the dying man at her feet made her pause. Reluctantly looking down at him again she bit back a curse of frustration and right then wanted to hit Paris for making her care about people. Feeling pity for the dying was neither conveniant nor pleasant.
She sighed through a clanched jaw and abruptly crouched beside Priam, anxious for him to say whatever he had to so she could leave and catch up with Agamemnon.
"You are Achilles?" he rasped.
Impatience coloured her tone. "Yes," she snapped, wanting to ask him how many other blonde women were running around the city in golden armour. Why, when people knew their time was running out, did they insist on wasting what they had left with pointless questions?
"Thank you."
That brought her up short. "Excuse me?"
Priam blinked heavily and coughed thickly. "You gave my eldest son back to me, let Hector live when you could have finished him. Why? Why did you let him live?"
Achilles scowled in slight confusion. "Why do you ask that?" Hector's survival could have been an accident. Priam wasn't to know she had changed the angle of her swing at the last moment, deliberately catching Hector with the hilt rather than the blade. It was Paris she returned to his family, Paris who had been in the camp of the enemy, completely at her mercy for days. And she was being thanked for the return of Hector?
For a moment the old king's eyes regained some of their fire and she caught a glimpse of the strength he once held. "Your reputation preceeds you and it does not speak of your mercy. He killed your cousin and you had come to kill him. He was lying defeated at your feet and yet you did not finish him. I need to know why."
She paused to think for a moment. What should she tell him? That it was an accident, that she had believed him to be dead?
But she cast her mind back to that moment, remembered how she felt when she had the Prince of Troy kneeling before her, and found she had to answer him, had to tell him the truth. Looking at Priam's grey-skinned face she knew he would not live to speak to anyone after her. He would take her next words to the grave. What harm could there be in confessing to this one person what she would never utter to another living soul?
She dragged in a deep breath and gently took Priam's cold hand in hers. "Because I love his brother." She stared into his eyes and knew he could see the truth in the intensity of her gaze. "I could never hurt Paris that way." She had been keeping these feelings hidden for so long that speaking them aloud was almost a physical relief. "He has taught me so much. I never knew I could be so... at peace as I was..." She let the sentence trail off. There were no words to adequately explain how she felt. She could only say this. "I fight for Troy now, and for the man I love."
Of all the answers Priam had imagined in the days following Hector's survival and Paris' return he had never considered this. Paris had seemed subdued, distracted, and his relationship with Helen was forever changed, but had thought it merely the after effects of his captivity, the shock of almost losing his brother. But now he knew he had been wrong. His eye sight was fading but Priam could clearly see the light in her eyes when she spoke on his youngest son.
Had he been anything less than at death's door he would have been violently opposed to any union between the two. But now, with his end imminent, he found he could forgive the past. Yes, the woman before him had done some terrible things. But hadn't they all killed in times of war? And war was all this woman had ever known. Until Paris.
"Can it be true?" he asked, shocked. "Is the mighty Achilles' heart melting after all this time?" Somehow, despite everything, there was a kindness to his voice that even he had not expected to hear and surprise showed clearly on the woman's face.
She let herself smile a little. "I wouldn't say 'melted'. But it is beginning to thaw, despite my greatest efforts." She flinched as Priam suddenly coughed up a mouthful of blood, his grip on her hand tightening. His time was almost up but she still had something to say. "And it is all your Paris' doing," she continued desperately wanting this man to understand before he left this world. "He has done what no one before him could. He tamed the beast in me. You should be proud of your youngest son, my lord."
Priam's breaths were coming in shallow gasps but still he placed his free hand over their clasped ones and gave her a tired, crooked smile. "I am," he breathed, his voice barely more than a gravelly whisper. "Tell him I am." He exhaled with a wet, undignified gurgle and slumped flat to the floor with a frothy red stream of blood flowing from his thin lips. His eyes were empty, glassy. and his face showed none of the pain he had battled through just to exchange words with her. He was at peace now.
Achilles' eyes were stinging again, only this time it wasn't from the smoke. She had just witnessed the passing of a great man, and she was sorry she had never known him.
Releasing his limp hand she stood and looked to the doorway to where Agamemnon had disappeared. She had lingered too long here. If she delayed any longer she may never find him. But the blood covering her palm drew her attention. She looked from the scarlet smears on her hand to the lifeless face of the late Trojan king, his body sprawled on the stone. With a sigh she crouched back down and arranged his body neatly, so when he was found he would appear dignified, as the honourable man he had been in life. She placed his hands on his stomach and straightened his head, taking the time to wipe the blood from his whiskered face and close his eyes. She briefly wondered what she could do for coins on his eyes then decided it wasn't her place. And a Greek soldier would only steal them.
When he was as presentable as she could make him she straightened up and placed her hand to her chest, bowing respectfully before leaving him to rest in the temple of gods that had turned their backs on him.
As she walked an awful thought occured to her.
When she found Paris she was going to have to tell him his father was dead. Her gut clenched at the thought. What would she say to him?
But as she rounded the corner her thoughts at once scattered and came into complete focus. Because she had just found the answers to two very important questions. Where had Agamemnon gone, and where did she need to go.
Because, not three buildings away was a grand courtyard. And on the other side of the courtyard was the palace.
I say again, some probably sounds a little rushed and I'm not overly happy with the death scene (i think they talk for too long), or a couple of other little bits i can't think of at the moment. but whatever you think, feel free to share. I'll get working on the next chapter soon as poss.
Hugz! xxx