ellegirl104 - the plot is starting to move along now, thanks for the review!
aroswein – Yeah, they're aren't to many stories which portray Paris as good, but well, it's not really all that surprising I suppose. But in this story Paris is good because I wanted a change from all of the Paris- bashing! Thanks for the review!
Lady Discord – updated! And I'm glad you like it!
Apollonia – Thanks for the advice, I'll see what I can do!
Chapter 3
He dropped to the ground wearily, beyond exhausted. Sweat stuck his hair to his brow and all he wanted to do was curl up and sleep. But he couldn't, not yet. He had to check that they were ok and safe. He hated the fact that he had been separated from them today, but he couldn't do anything about it. At least they had been allowed to stay together; he would have been worried sick if they had been separated from each other, as well as him.
If Paris was exhausted, then he didn't know what Vashti and Melitta were. They were practically asleep on their feet and although their hands were still bound, they had managed to hold hands with each other all day long. Paris, Vashti and Melitta were the youngest slaves in this group, and with Paris being a young man he was forced to carry much of the stuck, which was an extra weight since he still had his rucksack and the sword of Troy hidden under his cloak. The slavers weren't very good really, Paris thought, they simply assumed that since Paris hadn't put up a fight that he was unarmed. They hadn't bothered to search him or anything.
Paris looked around the camp for Vashti and Melitta and his eyes finally found them at the other side of the camp. He knew then that he wouldn't be able to see them, talk to them or comfort them that night. The slavers seemed to want them to be split up, but Paris didn't know why. He didn't know much about slavery; he had never wanted to know much about slavery. He hadn't really ever had much contact with slavery either. Sure they had had slaves in Troy, but Paris had never had one, he had never even wanted one. And he certainly didn't want to be sold as one! He didn't want Vashti and Melitta to be sold as slaves even more. They didn't deserve any of this, and a nagging in the back of his mind and his heart told him that it was his entire fault. If he had never brought Helen to Troy none of this would of happened. The whole war wouldn't of happened, troy wouldn't of fallen, Briseis would still me alive, he'd know what was happening to Hector, Andromache, Astyanax, Hanno, Cassandra and his father. And if he hadn't brought Helen to Troy, he Vashti and Melitta would not about to be sold as slaves. Maybe he deserved it though, Paris thought. It was his fault that it had happened and therefore he deserved what he got. But Vashti and Melitta did not deserve any of this. None of this had been because of them and Paris now knew that he had to do everything in his power to keep them safe. It was the least he could do for all the suffering he had brought on to his family and the people of Troy.
Night was starting to fall swiftly, and Paris soon fell into a fitful sleep. They had walked all day and his muscles and feet knew it. It wasn't long before he was awake again, he was too worried about Vashti and Melitta to be able to sleep. He stared up at the night sky, with the sword of Troy pressing into his back. It was uncomfortable, but also reassuring, because it meant that he knew that it was safe. He didn't bother turning onto his side or front because his muscles would protest. Paris had thought that he had been in pretty good physical shape, but the heavy load he had had to carry all day had taken its toll on him. He was weak, really, he thought, Hector would have had no problem with the load he had had to carry today, but Paris knew that he wasn't his brother. Paris knew that he would never be as good as his brother. Paris knew that he had let his brother down, and that hurt him. Paris and Hector were close, as far as brothers went, but Paris was closer to Melitta than he was to Hector, Cassandra or Vashti. Not many people knew that the youngest two daughters of Priam existed though, and at the movement, Paris knew that that was a good thing, for safety's sake.
Vashti and Melitta had never left Troy and their mother had died in childbirth with Melitta. Paris had been twelve at the time and he could still remember the night very vividly. It was a night he would never forget. With the queen dead or dying, everything had seemed too still and calm for Paris. He felt like his whole world had just crashed down around him and yet no one seemed to be panicking. He had grown up that night, and had learnt what death really was and he had known in his heart that his mother was never coming back. He had decided then and there that he would hate his new little brother or sister, since they had been the one to take his mother away. But as Melitta had started to grow up, she turned to Paris more often than not and as they spent time with each other, a strong friendship had formed, which was more than sibling love.
Vashti was obviously closer in age to Melitta than she was to Paris and was closer in age to Paris than Melitta, being born in between them. Since there was only a three-year gap in between the youngest two daughters of Priam, they were very close, but not as close as Paris and Melitta. Melitta had stolen Paris' heart when she was only a few weeks old and Vashti knew that nothing was ever going to change that. She had never minded though, because she had always had a close bond with Cassandra, her older sister. Cassandra was the one she would always turn to. Vashti was also close to Andromache, Hector's wife, who was another sister to her, Cassandra, Paris and Melitta. Cassandra and Hector were also very close because out of all of Priam's children, they were the closest in age, with only thirteen months separating them.
Paris continued thinking long into the night, mainly of happy times he had had in Troy. He could see Vashti and Melitta from where he lay and he kept checking on them, just to make sure that they were all right. The next thing he knew however was that he was waking up and he couldn't recall falling asleep. It was the beginning of another gurgling day for Paris, Vashti and Melitta as Thaddeus, the head slaver with this group, was a vicious man. After being given a little food they were once again walking, Paris was forced to help carry the supplies again. He was up near the front of the group, with Isidor, the man who had captured him, Vashti and Melitta, leading.
Near to Paris an old man was walking along, struggling a bit to keep up with the pace Isidor was setting. Despite his hands being bound, Paris managed to get both of the man's bound hands through one of his own arms so that he could help the man along. "Thank you, young one," the man whispered. "What is your name?"
"Philemon, sir," Paris whispered back, giving the fake name for himself that he had invented the day before.
"There is no need to be so formal," the man told him. "I am Hippolytus." Paris smiled at the old man and the two continued to walk on in silence. With Paris' help, Hippolytus was managing ok, but Paris couldn't help but wonder who would want a slave so old. Unless Hippolytus could read and write, he wasn't going to be much use to anyone as a worker.
After what seemed like an age to Paris they stopped for a break at midday. Paris lowered himself and Hippolytus to the ground gently and immediately looked around for Vashti and Melitta, barely concealing a sigh of relief when he saw that they were ok. He didn't know where they had been in the line of slaves, but he hoped that they hadn't been anywhere near Thaddeus, he didn't trust that man.
Hippolytus saw him looking at Vashti and Melitta and could see it in Paris' eyes that they meant a lot to him. "Those two?" he asked Paris. "What are their names?"
Paris looked at Hippolytus for a moment before answering. "Voletta and Melody," he said slowly, wondering what the old man was going on about.
"Philemon, Voletta and Melody," Hippolytus mused out loud and Paris just looked at him quizzically. "Philemon meaning loving, Voletta meaning veiled and Melody being an abstract virtue name. All very pretty names..." Hippolytus looked at Paris. "Your parents choose well."
"What makes you think that I have the same parents as Voletta and Melody?" he asked. A flask of water was being passed around the slaves and Paris took a gulp from it when it was his turn and then handed it to Hippolytus who had a drink and passed it on to the next slave.
"I do not know if you have the same parents as the two girls, but I'll guess that similar blood runs through your veins, you have the same eyes. And you are worried for the welfare of the two girls, that much is clear," Hippolytus said wisely.
Paris graced the old man with another smile, but did not say anything. He knew that he could not attract attention due to the fact that he paid so much attention to Vashti and Melitta. That would probably mean that they would be separated for longer or that they would be separated completely and they wouldn't even be on the same ship when they were shipped off to be sold. Paris told himself sternly that he would have to stop himself from checking up on his sisters so often, no matter how hard it was. Hippolytus could see the struggle going on in Paris' eyes, although the young prince had his face towards the ground and he managed to place his bound hands over Paris' bound hands.
Paris didn't look up at Hippolytus but felt comforted by the fact that someone older than him was there and holding his hands. Now he knew what it must feel like for Vashti and Melitta when he had held their hands on this perilous journey so far, it gave some reassurance and Paris promised himself that he'd hold their hands whenever he could, just to let them know that he was there. Everything had changed since he had left Troy, and he was now in charge of his two sisters. Two sisters who were too young to be going through this and yet were coping marvellously in Paris' eyes. To all outward appearances they were doing fine, but inside he did not know what they were thinking, they had not had a chance to talk.
Paris hoped that he would be able to talk to them tonight. He knew that from were they were sat now for the midday break while the slavers ate, if they looked towards the sea, they would be able to see troy in the distance. And he also knew that if they kept walking at the pace that they currently were, then they would reach one of the bays on the other side of Troy shortly after nightfall. Paris had a feeling that they wouldn't stop until then and then the next day they would be shipped off to the gods knew where and they'd start their lives as slaves. It was enough to make Paris weep, but he held back his sobs and tears. He could not show any weakness in front of Isidor and Thaddeus. He also could not break down and cry in front of Vashti and Melitta, he had to be strong for them, he did not want to scare them by breaking down and crying. With this thought in his mind he lifted his head again, with his mind clear and all his being focussed on getting to the ships with pride, despite the fact he was going to be sold as a slave. Hippolytus could see the tears in Paris' eyes, but also a new fierce determination and it made him wonder about the young one's past.
Please, please, please review! And what do you think of the names Vashti and Melitta? Should I change them?
aroswein – Yeah, they're aren't to many stories which portray Paris as good, but well, it's not really all that surprising I suppose. But in this story Paris is good because I wanted a change from all of the Paris- bashing! Thanks for the review!
Lady Discord – updated! And I'm glad you like it!
Apollonia – Thanks for the advice, I'll see what I can do!
Chapter 3
He dropped to the ground wearily, beyond exhausted. Sweat stuck his hair to his brow and all he wanted to do was curl up and sleep. But he couldn't, not yet. He had to check that they were ok and safe. He hated the fact that he had been separated from them today, but he couldn't do anything about it. At least they had been allowed to stay together; he would have been worried sick if they had been separated from each other, as well as him.
If Paris was exhausted, then he didn't know what Vashti and Melitta were. They were practically asleep on their feet and although their hands were still bound, they had managed to hold hands with each other all day long. Paris, Vashti and Melitta were the youngest slaves in this group, and with Paris being a young man he was forced to carry much of the stuck, which was an extra weight since he still had his rucksack and the sword of Troy hidden under his cloak. The slavers weren't very good really, Paris thought, they simply assumed that since Paris hadn't put up a fight that he was unarmed. They hadn't bothered to search him or anything.
Paris looked around the camp for Vashti and Melitta and his eyes finally found them at the other side of the camp. He knew then that he wouldn't be able to see them, talk to them or comfort them that night. The slavers seemed to want them to be split up, but Paris didn't know why. He didn't know much about slavery; he had never wanted to know much about slavery. He hadn't really ever had much contact with slavery either. Sure they had had slaves in Troy, but Paris had never had one, he had never even wanted one. And he certainly didn't want to be sold as one! He didn't want Vashti and Melitta to be sold as slaves even more. They didn't deserve any of this, and a nagging in the back of his mind and his heart told him that it was his entire fault. If he had never brought Helen to Troy none of this would of happened. The whole war wouldn't of happened, troy wouldn't of fallen, Briseis would still me alive, he'd know what was happening to Hector, Andromache, Astyanax, Hanno, Cassandra and his father. And if he hadn't brought Helen to Troy, he Vashti and Melitta would not about to be sold as slaves. Maybe he deserved it though, Paris thought. It was his fault that it had happened and therefore he deserved what he got. But Vashti and Melitta did not deserve any of this. None of this had been because of them and Paris now knew that he had to do everything in his power to keep them safe. It was the least he could do for all the suffering he had brought on to his family and the people of Troy.
Night was starting to fall swiftly, and Paris soon fell into a fitful sleep. They had walked all day and his muscles and feet knew it. It wasn't long before he was awake again, he was too worried about Vashti and Melitta to be able to sleep. He stared up at the night sky, with the sword of Troy pressing into his back. It was uncomfortable, but also reassuring, because it meant that he knew that it was safe. He didn't bother turning onto his side or front because his muscles would protest. Paris had thought that he had been in pretty good physical shape, but the heavy load he had had to carry all day had taken its toll on him. He was weak, really, he thought, Hector would have had no problem with the load he had had to carry today, but Paris knew that he wasn't his brother. Paris knew that he would never be as good as his brother. Paris knew that he had let his brother down, and that hurt him. Paris and Hector were close, as far as brothers went, but Paris was closer to Melitta than he was to Hector, Cassandra or Vashti. Not many people knew that the youngest two daughters of Priam existed though, and at the movement, Paris knew that that was a good thing, for safety's sake.
Vashti and Melitta had never left Troy and their mother had died in childbirth with Melitta. Paris had been twelve at the time and he could still remember the night very vividly. It was a night he would never forget. With the queen dead or dying, everything had seemed too still and calm for Paris. He felt like his whole world had just crashed down around him and yet no one seemed to be panicking. He had grown up that night, and had learnt what death really was and he had known in his heart that his mother was never coming back. He had decided then and there that he would hate his new little brother or sister, since they had been the one to take his mother away. But as Melitta had started to grow up, she turned to Paris more often than not and as they spent time with each other, a strong friendship had formed, which was more than sibling love.
Vashti was obviously closer in age to Melitta than she was to Paris and was closer in age to Paris than Melitta, being born in between them. Since there was only a three-year gap in between the youngest two daughters of Priam, they were very close, but not as close as Paris and Melitta. Melitta had stolen Paris' heart when she was only a few weeks old and Vashti knew that nothing was ever going to change that. She had never minded though, because she had always had a close bond with Cassandra, her older sister. Cassandra was the one she would always turn to. Vashti was also close to Andromache, Hector's wife, who was another sister to her, Cassandra, Paris and Melitta. Cassandra and Hector were also very close because out of all of Priam's children, they were the closest in age, with only thirteen months separating them.
Paris continued thinking long into the night, mainly of happy times he had had in Troy. He could see Vashti and Melitta from where he lay and he kept checking on them, just to make sure that they were all right. The next thing he knew however was that he was waking up and he couldn't recall falling asleep. It was the beginning of another gurgling day for Paris, Vashti and Melitta as Thaddeus, the head slaver with this group, was a vicious man. After being given a little food they were once again walking, Paris was forced to help carry the supplies again. He was up near the front of the group, with Isidor, the man who had captured him, Vashti and Melitta, leading.
Near to Paris an old man was walking along, struggling a bit to keep up with the pace Isidor was setting. Despite his hands being bound, Paris managed to get both of the man's bound hands through one of his own arms so that he could help the man along. "Thank you, young one," the man whispered. "What is your name?"
"Philemon, sir," Paris whispered back, giving the fake name for himself that he had invented the day before.
"There is no need to be so formal," the man told him. "I am Hippolytus." Paris smiled at the old man and the two continued to walk on in silence. With Paris' help, Hippolytus was managing ok, but Paris couldn't help but wonder who would want a slave so old. Unless Hippolytus could read and write, he wasn't going to be much use to anyone as a worker.
After what seemed like an age to Paris they stopped for a break at midday. Paris lowered himself and Hippolytus to the ground gently and immediately looked around for Vashti and Melitta, barely concealing a sigh of relief when he saw that they were ok. He didn't know where they had been in the line of slaves, but he hoped that they hadn't been anywhere near Thaddeus, he didn't trust that man.
Hippolytus saw him looking at Vashti and Melitta and could see it in Paris' eyes that they meant a lot to him. "Those two?" he asked Paris. "What are their names?"
Paris looked at Hippolytus for a moment before answering. "Voletta and Melody," he said slowly, wondering what the old man was going on about.
"Philemon, Voletta and Melody," Hippolytus mused out loud and Paris just looked at him quizzically. "Philemon meaning loving, Voletta meaning veiled and Melody being an abstract virtue name. All very pretty names..." Hippolytus looked at Paris. "Your parents choose well."
"What makes you think that I have the same parents as Voletta and Melody?" he asked. A flask of water was being passed around the slaves and Paris took a gulp from it when it was his turn and then handed it to Hippolytus who had a drink and passed it on to the next slave.
"I do not know if you have the same parents as the two girls, but I'll guess that similar blood runs through your veins, you have the same eyes. And you are worried for the welfare of the two girls, that much is clear," Hippolytus said wisely.
Paris graced the old man with another smile, but did not say anything. He knew that he could not attract attention due to the fact that he paid so much attention to Vashti and Melitta. That would probably mean that they would be separated for longer or that they would be separated completely and they wouldn't even be on the same ship when they were shipped off to be sold. Paris told himself sternly that he would have to stop himself from checking up on his sisters so often, no matter how hard it was. Hippolytus could see the struggle going on in Paris' eyes, although the young prince had his face towards the ground and he managed to place his bound hands over Paris' bound hands.
Paris didn't look up at Hippolytus but felt comforted by the fact that someone older than him was there and holding his hands. Now he knew what it must feel like for Vashti and Melitta when he had held their hands on this perilous journey so far, it gave some reassurance and Paris promised himself that he'd hold their hands whenever he could, just to let them know that he was there. Everything had changed since he had left Troy, and he was now in charge of his two sisters. Two sisters who were too young to be going through this and yet were coping marvellously in Paris' eyes. To all outward appearances they were doing fine, but inside he did not know what they were thinking, they had not had a chance to talk.
Paris hoped that he would be able to talk to them tonight. He knew that from were they were sat now for the midday break while the slavers ate, if they looked towards the sea, they would be able to see troy in the distance. And he also knew that if they kept walking at the pace that they currently were, then they would reach one of the bays on the other side of Troy shortly after nightfall. Paris had a feeling that they wouldn't stop until then and then the next day they would be shipped off to the gods knew where and they'd start their lives as slaves. It was enough to make Paris weep, but he held back his sobs and tears. He could not show any weakness in front of Isidor and Thaddeus. He also could not break down and cry in front of Vashti and Melitta, he had to be strong for them, he did not want to scare them by breaking down and crying. With this thought in his mind he lifted his head again, with his mind clear and all his being focussed on getting to the ships with pride, despite the fact he was going to be sold as a slave. Hippolytus could see the tears in Paris' eyes, but also a new fierce determination and it made him wonder about the young one's past.
Please, please, please review! And what do you think of the names Vashti and Melitta? Should I change them?