NOTE: Woohooooo, thank you for the reviews! Some people pointed out a specific phrase that they liked, and that is very helpful. It helps a writer figure out what little things make a story work. ;) I think someone mentioned that Paris/Achilles was a strange pairing and it would make more sense to do a Hector/Achilles instead (which I might do in another story!)... I agree, but I looooooove Orlando Bloom, even though he was a coward throughout most of the film. Being a coward saved Paris' life in the movie.. I prefer to have him alive than die with 'honor.' Anyway, enjoy!!

CHAPTER 2

Paris trembled, and visibly. "You are making a big mistake," he whispered.

"And why is that," Achilles said, not really waiting for an answer. He pressed the sword tip further into the young man's neck, enough to draw forth a trickle of blood.

"Because I am a prince of Troy!" Paris blurted. To reveal a member of a royal family's identity to a stranger and have no means of protection at the same time was considered to be a grave mistake, but this was a crucial moment. Paris felt the sting at his neck and the warm liquid escaping at a faster rate, and he hoped that his outburst would buy him some time... time to do what? Beg for his life?

But the gods must have been on the young prince's side that night, for the sword was instantly removed.

Achilles lowered his weapon and stared at the other man. "You lie," he said at length.

His heart pounding with cautious hope, Paris pulled back his sleeve and removed an armlet from his wrist. He held it so the moonlight shone on the delicate silver insignia that marked the royal house of Troy.

"So it is true," Achilles mumbled. He examined the prince in the moonlight with narrowed eyes and said, "If I am sure of one thing, it is that you are not Hector. I would have suffered at least a scratch by now. You must be the youngest prince, then. Paris."

Paris shivered at the sound of his name. Through the darkness, he sensed the other man smile, and it somehow made him feel worse. He briefly wondered if maybe he had eluded death only to suffer something more terrible.

Achilles was slightly taken aback at how easily he had found the prince. Also, there was now reason to spare the young man's life and momentarily suspend the otherwise constant increase of deaths Achilles had caused.

"You are coming with me," the warrior stated and roughly grabbed Paris by his wrist. He dragged him around a bend until a lone ship came into view.

"Where are you taking me?" Paris shouted, now on the verge of panic.

Achilles ignored him. He briskly pulled the prince all the way on to the ship, opened a door that led to a room below deck, and unceremoniously pushed the young man through it.

Before Paris could protest, he heard the door slam and lock behind him. Stunned, all he could do was silently survey his surroundings. The room was spacious enough and lit by carefully placed candles. He vaguely noted a bed, expensive coverings, and platters of fruit on a low table. On trembling legs, he slowly made his way toward a wall and slid to the floor, the hard wood supporting his back. Time passed and Paris was soon too weary from fear to stay awake. He closed his eyes and finally drifted into blissful darkness.

Achilles woke early in a less than good mood. Somehow, kidnapping princes was not terribly fulfilling. He stood on deck for a while, enjoying the feel of the morning sun on his skin. He nodded in polite acknowledgement to one of the only two crew members of the ship. On the way to Troy, they kept their distance as much as possible. Achilles hoped that the trip back would be the same.

Finally, the warrior decided it was time to pay the young prince a visit. He regretted being so careless, for he almost killed the man he came all this way for. Paris had been visibly afraid of him last night, and Achilles had to somehow fix that. The journey back to Greece was long, and it would do no one good to have a terrified prince on board.

He opened the cabin door and stepped inside. He instantly spotted the prince, who was curled up on the floor against the far wall, his face hidden in his arms. Achilles sighed and went to him, kneeling at his side. Paris looked to be asleep, so Achilles decided to take advantage of the moment and examine the prince's neck wound. He gently turned the prince so that his arms fell away from his face and his neck was in view.

Achilles, who vanquished men and defied gods, was made momentarily breathless.

The prince was... beautiful.

He had a flawlessly, delicately sculpted face. His rich brown locks were worthy of an Olympian god, and they framed his face perfectly. Achilles involuntarily rested his fingers to the sleeping man's temple. The prince stirred from the touch, causing Achilles to nearly fall backwards in alarm.

Paris opened his eyes slowly, for a second believing that he was still in the safety of his sleeping quarters at Troy. As his vision came into focus, he saw a man's face watching him intently. Suddenly, all of his memories flooded back, and he violently lurched away from the man and against an adjacent wall.

Exasperated, Achilles said, "I'm not going to hurt you." Remembering the neck wound, he added, "Again, that is."

Paris stared at the other man. He was frozen in place, but this time by awe rather than by fear. Under different circumstances, he would have thought that the warrior before him was Apollo himself. The man had long, golden hair. It seemed that his blue eyes had a light of their own as they pierced the distance between them. There was something more than human about the perfection of the muscles that rested beneath his faultless, smooth skin. Staring at this man was like staring at the sun, and soon Paris found himself blinking several times.

Achilles swallowed, hard. He found that the prince's staring was making him strangely uncomfortable. He averted his eyes and rose slowly, as to not startle him, and made his way to the low table where a bowl of water lay. He silently brought that and a piece of cloth to where Paris still sat. He once again crouched next to the prince and dipped the cloth into the water. The prince's neck wound was deeper than Achilles thought. There was more than enough dried blood on Paris' neck and collar, and the wound itself had only recently clotted.

"Here," Achilles said softly and made to clean off the blood. Paris jerked away before the cloth could touch his neck.

"Who are you? Where are you taking me?" Paris yelled.

Achilles sighed. Keeping his voice soft, he said, "My name is Achilles."

Paris' heart began to hammer so loudly that he was afraid the other would hear it.

"Your...your legend is well known in...in Troy," he stammered. Now he knew who the stranger was. He was the best warrior in Greece. Some said he could not be killed. And this warrior was sitting just inches away.

"Yes," Achilles said. "I have killed many. But you must learn, young Paris," he added, almost wistfully, as he once more went to reach the wet cloth to his neck, "there is always more to a 'legend' than many men will ever make an effort to uncover."

Well? Well well well??? Do I hear a chapter 3??

I know, the whole cloth scene is a lot like in the movie where Achilles tries to clean off Briseis' wounds, but it's like that for a reason, I promise! ;)

By the way, does anyone know how long it would take to sail from Greece to Troy? I want to be accurate time-wise in this story.