Author: Sabine Hawks & Alma Aciginada
Rating: R
Characters: All of the major characters left alive at the end of the film and a few new ones
Feedback: Yes, please!
(3)
It was late in the day when the last of the Trojans crossed into distinctly foreign territory. Paris knew that this land they now stood upon had been disputed for decades--who rightfully owned this area had never truly been decided. Priam had often boasted that it was his, and still tribes moving in from Persia had insisted on claiming it for their own...yet only one group had consistently controlled the mouth of the river recently: the Amazons. Paris had never seen an Amazon but the stories were enough--despite his proud words to Briseis, he did in fact fear the powerful women that defended this territory. He had no intention of questioning their skills as warriors for he had seen with his own eyes the peasants that occasionally stumbled into Troy hysterical with stories of fearless women riding them into the grass. Paris knew, however, that their chances of garnering sympathy from the women was better than their chances in a town; the war was still too near and Greeks would be swarming the area with news of Troy's defeat beginning to spread. It would be a risk entering this country, but it was a risk they needed to take.
The land was growing hilly and in the steady heat of mid-day the group was slow and clumsy. Andromache lagged behind, her son wrapped heavily to protect him from the sun--Aeneas walked at her side, refusing to leave her and the baby unattended. Paris was the first to reach the top of the hill that truly signified they had left Trojan lands; ahead lay a sprawling and rich forest that hid the river from their view. He could hear the trickling of water and he knew that the group had earned a rest.
"The river is close now, we can stop to relax for a few hours there, but a few hours is all that we can afford," Paris shouted over his shoulder, his breathing shallow from the effort it had taken to climb the hill. He waited for the others, wiping the back of his hand across his forehead--so far there was no sign of civilization, no sign of any human life. Briseis came to stand beside him.
"It is beautiful here, and yet there is danger, cousin."
"Yes," Paris touched her shoulder gently, "but we do not have any other options. I would not lead us straight into a port city crawling with Greeks still thirsty for Trojan blood. We must stay in the wild, cousin, or we will surely be discovered."
Briseis nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation. She reached up, binding her hair up with a piece of ragged cloth. She thought of the incredible change that he had undergone in a matter of days--Paris had become more of a man in that week than in all of his life. The frivolity and impulsiveness she had once thought ruled his actions were gone, replaced with a resolve to protect the last of his kind. She had predicted that he would hide behind Helen and use her for strength but the two of them had barely shared a moment during the walk--Briseis wondered if Paris, like herself, felt the absence of Hector more than ever. Though he would not admit it, Briseis suspected that a small part of Paris felt Helen was responsible for the loss of the dear prince.
"I will be thankful for a bath," Briseis took Paris' hand from her shoulder and squeezed it, "we shall all be thankful for a moment's rest."
When the others reached the top of the hill Paris allowed them several minutes to catch their breath for the last bit of that day's journey. He walked among them, making sure the women were not too weak to go on, ensuring that the children were not too hot or too tired. Andromache was without complaint although Paris could sense the fatigue and sorrow that she kept so skillfully hidden.
"Soon, sister, soon we can rest," Paris reassured her, touching his nephew's forehead. Andromache mustered a small smile for him and he was satisfied with this. Without a word, Paris strode to the head of the Trojans and led them down toward the river.
Although it was not a great distance away, the sun had begun to set when they reached the banks of the river. Briseis tossed herself in without hesitation, scrubbing at her hair furiously. Helen was not far behind, nor Aeneas, but Paris stayed on the shore with Andromache as she unwrapped Scamandrias and bathed him with one hand. Paris watched the women reveling in the cool water, relief showing on their features for the first time in many days.
"You are doing well, Paris, I will admit that this plan is bold but I could not imagine a Trojan doing it any other way," Andromache grinned, watching as her son giggled with pleasure from the soothing water. Paris felt himself flush and he looked at the ground for guidance, "You are too kind, sister, I do not deserve your praise. Please, save it until you are all safe and happy."
"Safety we will find, but happiness is another matter entirely."
"Yes, I doubt any of us will know such happiness as we once did."
Andromache reached up and touched his cheek with her wet hand; her eyes spoke of the horrors that they had each endured but there was a glimmer of hope, "Though I agree, I hope you are wrong, young prince."
Paris stood, shedding his scuffed armor with a labored sigh; his shoulders screamed with pain. He piled his belongings on the banks of the river, leaving his bow on top before diving into the water with a cloth wrapped around his waist.
"Paris! Paris look what I have for you!"
The prince turned and found Helen wading toward him; her smile made his heart flutter within his chest. She held out a ripe yellow fruit to him, in her other hand was one that she had already begun devouring; the juices ran from her lips.
"They are sweet, I found them on the opposite side of the..."
Helen screamed as an arrow head exploded through the end of the fruit. Paris flung himself onto land, scrambling to pick up his bow but he was without a target--suddenly the entire forest surrounding them was his enemy. Helen scrambled onto the banks beside him, still clutching the skewered fruit; Andromache knelt at her brother in law's feet.
"Well isn't this a joyful gathering?" the voice, tipped with mockery, seemed to come from the very leaves.
"Show yourself," Paris shouted, turning wildly, searching for the archer.
"It is unwise to make demands of an enemy you cannot see," a shadow emerged from the thick forest, followed by many others, "especially when you command a mighty army of two."
Paris glanced over his shoulder at young Aeneas, who now wielded the sword of Troy in nothing but a leather kilt. The shadow approached Paris slowly, a bow in one hand, the other reaching up to pull off the cowl that concealed their face. The prince was surprised to find the source of such a voice was a young woman. Her garments were simple and functional but she wore a few beaded bracelets and her arms and face had been painted with intricate designs. The softness in her features was unlike the severe faces of the women he knew. Shadows now emerged from the opposite side of the river and all around them and as they removed their hoods they were all revealed to be women. But these were not the brutish warriors described to him by court story tellers--no, they were women such as he would see walking in the streets of Troy.
"Lower your bow or I will give you another demonstration of my skill, and this time I will not be aiming for fruit," two dark eyes shifted to regard Helen, who shook with fear behind Paris. The prince could think of no response and knew that they were gravely outnumbered; he lowered his weapon.
"You stomp onto our land, bathe in our river and eat our fruit all without introducing yourselves?" she ran a hand through her short hair and Paris noticed the muscles straining in her forearm, "Such courtesy is rarely seen."
"Please!"
Paris was nearly knocked down as Andromache launched herself forward, prostrate at the girl's feet, "I have a son, we are not fighters, we are women and children, old men, refugees! Please have mercy! We have been walking for days, we are tired and hot, we did not mean to show disrespect."
The archer stepped forward to a chorus of a soft snickers, looking down at the widow of Hector, "How predictable: A woman is the only vessel of reason among you." She was quiet for a moment, gazing at Andromache and her son, "You are Trojans no doubt. The burning can be seen even from here. If we allow you shelter we put ourselves at great risk...if you were followed the Greeks will raid our city and yet another civilization will be destroyed because of Trojan foolishness."
"You speak with reason," Paris ventured, earning a searing look from the Amazon, "but if Greeks were at our heels they would have killed us days ago. They would not hesitate to murder a prince of Troy."
A soft murmur rose from the Amazons but the archer ignored it.
"Do you think that impresses me, Trojan?" the woman replied, rounding on Paris, "Such titles mean nothing in this land, in this land respect is not handed to you from your birth, it is earned. It is not a life of jewels and glory--I doubt you would find our accommodations up to your impossible standards." She raised her chin, looking down her nose at Paris with as much disgust as she could manage, "But I do pity these women, these mothers that you drag across the countryside without food or proper protection. I am surprised you even made it this far without being hunted down by Agamemnon and his war-crazed soldiers."
"Agamemnon is dead," Briseis spoke up, pushing her way past Paris, "I killed him. With this right hand I killed him."
"Even if that is true, no one will ever hear of it, no man would ever admit that a woman bested their king," the Amazon shrugged, turning back to the forest. She rubbed at her chin for a moment, glancing at the sky before looking to Paris, "Tell me your name, prince, and you will have our protection and hospitality for as long as we see fit."
Paris breathed deeply with relief, but noticed the dissatisfaction her comment had caused among the other Amazons and nodded his head respectfully toward the woman.
"My name is Paris, son of Priam, King of Troy."
One of the Amazons had brought forth a sleek white horse from the trees; the Amazon leader took the reigns and swung onto its back effortlessly. She looked down at Paris and a flicker of a smile past over her features, "I am Accalia, a princess of the Amazons. Be grateful for your women, Prince Paris, they have put a roof over your head."
Rating: R
Characters: All of the major characters left alive at the end of the film and a few new ones
Feedback: Yes, please!
(3)
It was late in the day when the last of the Trojans crossed into distinctly foreign territory. Paris knew that this land they now stood upon had been disputed for decades--who rightfully owned this area had never truly been decided. Priam had often boasted that it was his, and still tribes moving in from Persia had insisted on claiming it for their own...yet only one group had consistently controlled the mouth of the river recently: the Amazons. Paris had never seen an Amazon but the stories were enough--despite his proud words to Briseis, he did in fact fear the powerful women that defended this territory. He had no intention of questioning their skills as warriors for he had seen with his own eyes the peasants that occasionally stumbled into Troy hysterical with stories of fearless women riding them into the grass. Paris knew, however, that their chances of garnering sympathy from the women was better than their chances in a town; the war was still too near and Greeks would be swarming the area with news of Troy's defeat beginning to spread. It would be a risk entering this country, but it was a risk they needed to take.
The land was growing hilly and in the steady heat of mid-day the group was slow and clumsy. Andromache lagged behind, her son wrapped heavily to protect him from the sun--Aeneas walked at her side, refusing to leave her and the baby unattended. Paris was the first to reach the top of the hill that truly signified they had left Trojan lands; ahead lay a sprawling and rich forest that hid the river from their view. He could hear the trickling of water and he knew that the group had earned a rest.
"The river is close now, we can stop to relax for a few hours there, but a few hours is all that we can afford," Paris shouted over his shoulder, his breathing shallow from the effort it had taken to climb the hill. He waited for the others, wiping the back of his hand across his forehead--so far there was no sign of civilization, no sign of any human life. Briseis came to stand beside him.
"It is beautiful here, and yet there is danger, cousin."
"Yes," Paris touched her shoulder gently, "but we do not have any other options. I would not lead us straight into a port city crawling with Greeks still thirsty for Trojan blood. We must stay in the wild, cousin, or we will surely be discovered."
Briseis nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation. She reached up, binding her hair up with a piece of ragged cloth. She thought of the incredible change that he had undergone in a matter of days--Paris had become more of a man in that week than in all of his life. The frivolity and impulsiveness she had once thought ruled his actions were gone, replaced with a resolve to protect the last of his kind. She had predicted that he would hide behind Helen and use her for strength but the two of them had barely shared a moment during the walk--Briseis wondered if Paris, like herself, felt the absence of Hector more than ever. Though he would not admit it, Briseis suspected that a small part of Paris felt Helen was responsible for the loss of the dear prince.
"I will be thankful for a bath," Briseis took Paris' hand from her shoulder and squeezed it, "we shall all be thankful for a moment's rest."
When the others reached the top of the hill Paris allowed them several minutes to catch their breath for the last bit of that day's journey. He walked among them, making sure the women were not too weak to go on, ensuring that the children were not too hot or too tired. Andromache was without complaint although Paris could sense the fatigue and sorrow that she kept so skillfully hidden.
"Soon, sister, soon we can rest," Paris reassured her, touching his nephew's forehead. Andromache mustered a small smile for him and he was satisfied with this. Without a word, Paris strode to the head of the Trojans and led them down toward the river.
Although it was not a great distance away, the sun had begun to set when they reached the banks of the river. Briseis tossed herself in without hesitation, scrubbing at her hair furiously. Helen was not far behind, nor Aeneas, but Paris stayed on the shore with Andromache as she unwrapped Scamandrias and bathed him with one hand. Paris watched the women reveling in the cool water, relief showing on their features for the first time in many days.
"You are doing well, Paris, I will admit that this plan is bold but I could not imagine a Trojan doing it any other way," Andromache grinned, watching as her son giggled with pleasure from the soothing water. Paris felt himself flush and he looked at the ground for guidance, "You are too kind, sister, I do not deserve your praise. Please, save it until you are all safe and happy."
"Safety we will find, but happiness is another matter entirely."
"Yes, I doubt any of us will know such happiness as we once did."
Andromache reached up and touched his cheek with her wet hand; her eyes spoke of the horrors that they had each endured but there was a glimmer of hope, "Though I agree, I hope you are wrong, young prince."
Paris stood, shedding his scuffed armor with a labored sigh; his shoulders screamed with pain. He piled his belongings on the banks of the river, leaving his bow on top before diving into the water with a cloth wrapped around his waist.
"Paris! Paris look what I have for you!"
The prince turned and found Helen wading toward him; her smile made his heart flutter within his chest. She held out a ripe yellow fruit to him, in her other hand was one that she had already begun devouring; the juices ran from her lips.
"They are sweet, I found them on the opposite side of the..."
Helen screamed as an arrow head exploded through the end of the fruit. Paris flung himself onto land, scrambling to pick up his bow but he was without a target--suddenly the entire forest surrounding them was his enemy. Helen scrambled onto the banks beside him, still clutching the skewered fruit; Andromache knelt at her brother in law's feet.
"Well isn't this a joyful gathering?" the voice, tipped with mockery, seemed to come from the very leaves.
"Show yourself," Paris shouted, turning wildly, searching for the archer.
"It is unwise to make demands of an enemy you cannot see," a shadow emerged from the thick forest, followed by many others, "especially when you command a mighty army of two."
Paris glanced over his shoulder at young Aeneas, who now wielded the sword of Troy in nothing but a leather kilt. The shadow approached Paris slowly, a bow in one hand, the other reaching up to pull off the cowl that concealed their face. The prince was surprised to find the source of such a voice was a young woman. Her garments were simple and functional but she wore a few beaded bracelets and her arms and face had been painted with intricate designs. The softness in her features was unlike the severe faces of the women he knew. Shadows now emerged from the opposite side of the river and all around them and as they removed their hoods they were all revealed to be women. But these were not the brutish warriors described to him by court story tellers--no, they were women such as he would see walking in the streets of Troy.
"Lower your bow or I will give you another demonstration of my skill, and this time I will not be aiming for fruit," two dark eyes shifted to regard Helen, who shook with fear behind Paris. The prince could think of no response and knew that they were gravely outnumbered; he lowered his weapon.
"You stomp onto our land, bathe in our river and eat our fruit all without introducing yourselves?" she ran a hand through her short hair and Paris noticed the muscles straining in her forearm, "Such courtesy is rarely seen."
"Please!"
Paris was nearly knocked down as Andromache launched herself forward, prostrate at the girl's feet, "I have a son, we are not fighters, we are women and children, old men, refugees! Please have mercy! We have been walking for days, we are tired and hot, we did not mean to show disrespect."
The archer stepped forward to a chorus of a soft snickers, looking down at the widow of Hector, "How predictable: A woman is the only vessel of reason among you." She was quiet for a moment, gazing at Andromache and her son, "You are Trojans no doubt. The burning can be seen even from here. If we allow you shelter we put ourselves at great risk...if you were followed the Greeks will raid our city and yet another civilization will be destroyed because of Trojan foolishness."
"You speak with reason," Paris ventured, earning a searing look from the Amazon, "but if Greeks were at our heels they would have killed us days ago. They would not hesitate to murder a prince of Troy."
A soft murmur rose from the Amazons but the archer ignored it.
"Do you think that impresses me, Trojan?" the woman replied, rounding on Paris, "Such titles mean nothing in this land, in this land respect is not handed to you from your birth, it is earned. It is not a life of jewels and glory--I doubt you would find our accommodations up to your impossible standards." She raised her chin, looking down her nose at Paris with as much disgust as she could manage, "But I do pity these women, these mothers that you drag across the countryside without food or proper protection. I am surprised you even made it this far without being hunted down by Agamemnon and his war-crazed soldiers."
"Agamemnon is dead," Briseis spoke up, pushing her way past Paris, "I killed him. With this right hand I killed him."
"Even if that is true, no one will ever hear of it, no man would ever admit that a woman bested their king," the Amazon shrugged, turning back to the forest. She rubbed at her chin for a moment, glancing at the sky before looking to Paris, "Tell me your name, prince, and you will have our protection and hospitality for as long as we see fit."
Paris breathed deeply with relief, but noticed the dissatisfaction her comment had caused among the other Amazons and nodded his head respectfully toward the woman.
"My name is Paris, son of Priam, King of Troy."
One of the Amazons had brought forth a sleek white horse from the trees; the Amazon leader took the reigns and swung onto its back effortlessly. She looked down at Paris and a flicker of a smile past over her features, "I am Accalia, a princess of the Amazons. Be grateful for your women, Prince Paris, they have put a roof over your head."