Forbidden Gods
Purgatory
Five times it has been that Apollo rode his chariot, dragging the sun at his heels over the city. When Paris fist stepped into the palace, he was ordered to stay in his room until further notice. At this moment, he still waited for that notice. He spent most of the day staring out from his balcony and peering down the courtyard. It was heavy decorated with fig trees, orchids, green grass and plants, poplars, oil trees, lemons and jasmine. It was a beautiful place, and here it was sometimes possible to forget the face of Achilles when he left him. Paris shivered. Someone else was in the room.
It was Agamemnon, dressed in his significant color, red; but this time he had a large lump on his head from where Paris threw the vase at him last time they met. After Paris turned his head from Agamemnon is disgust he drew his attention to the attractive young girl in the garden. He's been watching her for sometime, memorized by her bronzed skin, black hair and curvy figure. He wished to run his hands along her sides. "Paris. I think you would want an explanation from me. But I am not here to give you such a thing..." Paris didn't make any movement showing care to Agamemnon.
The king wasn't his true forceful self. He slipped into his gentle, smooth self Paris used believed he was. Agamemnon tried to touch Paris' shoulder for compassion but Paris sifted away from him, leaving the king on the balcony alone. In some part of Agamemnon, he wanted Paris' trust. Deep down, the young prince reminded him of his late daughter. He swiped her name from his memory by drinking some tonic, to ease the pain of her lose. But he still remembered how she responded when knowing her life was to end for the sake of the Trojan War to begin.
Ten years before, Agamemnon angered the goddess Artemis. And when he needed her help the most for wind to steer his ships, she demanded the life of her daughter to make up the anger she had for him. Without any discretion, he ordered his daughter to be brought to him for her to marry Achilles. When she came upon the ceremony site and not seeing Achilles, but a knife in his place, she didn't scream. Instead she looked into her father's eyes without even blinking of fear and said these words that will trouble his existence as a mortal forever. "I will give up my life for your sake father of better winds." It hit him to know what his daughter is actually dieing for. But it was too late to speak out and hold her, for the knife was already slitting across her throat and virgin blood spilled. He hid his face in the folds of his cloak to hide his tears.
To this day, that memory stalks Agamemnon everywhere he went. But when he first embraced Paris, a little of that pained eased and her words were drown out by the princes' breathing. The feeling was so faint in Agamemnon that it drowned behind his lust for Paris' body. However, when he finally had Paris and knew he raped him; he would never again have that peace. Father Time showed him that he lived off that peace and his fatherly love for Paris was true, but would never be returned because of the marks he left on Paris.
"Why him? Out of all the allies you have in this world, it was him; the one that murdered your brother, to set you free. What alliance do you have with that barbarian?" "Barbarian!" Paris scowled. "How dare you call him that after the things you've done! And you call yourself a man to have your own child" Agamemnon knew what he was going to say and slapped him across his cheek before finishing his sentence. The prince revert his eyes to the king, bewildered to again do such a thing; after he so much wanted his acceptance. He stepped up to the fresh prince, only a smidge of space was between their faces.
"You are out of line boy! Never again will you repeat that event again...do you understand me?!" Paris stared him down and did not move for reply. Agamemnon made his way to the door. "And if you ever want to eat again, you will have to go to banquet. Can't have questions arose in court." Paris still didn't move, even after the door had long been closed. His mind revolved around the same subject over and over again.
What am I doing here? To save Achilles' life, I had to give up mine. But first my sanity will revoke from my mind and pour into Agamemnon's blood stained hands before my life is taken. Paris looked at his wrists, tracing the scars up and down. A guilty thought crossed his mind; but then Achilles' words reminded him in an instant; insouciantly bringing him at peace.
Paris walked back to the balcony, again gazing at the golden beauty. More and more, she's been coming looking even more attractive. This time her hair was up, entwined with violets. She looked back at Paris, knowing he's been watching her all this time and smiled then waved. The prince waved back and continued to watch. She was very revulsive to Paris, but lusting after something as this made him think of Achilles. The touch of his lips, the smell of his hair, and taste of his skin will forever be inscribed in his memory. Now staying here he was a ghost. A living object for those to lust after, no matter if he wanted them or not. Even if the girl down there was lying on top of his body; he still wouldn't feel her heat, or the heart beating next to his. He was numb to all things; to the wind blowing through his hair, or the fingers running along his shoulder. What is touching my shoulder?!
He turned to see a swollen eyed face. To his surprised the figure grabbed him in her arms before he could identified who was that was grasping him to her. "I am so sorry my dear." She could barely speak, her voice bubbled over her tears. Her hair was light brown, piled in a delicate bun. As they slowly separated from their hold, he knew who was in his arms. "I wasn't expecting the lady of the house to come in my room." Clytemnestra was wife to Agamemnon and sister of the most beautiful woman in the world, Helen. She remembered the face of the man that seduced Helen so much that she left her life behind for him, and Clytemnestra also fancied Paris. No woman could resist his charm and looks, for it was rumored that Aphrodite was the real mother of Paris.
But her girlish fantasies were long gone. Smothered by the death of her daughter and knowing who the one that sealed her fate. "My dear prince." She stroked his cheek. "I cannot bare myself; knowing that you too are locked up in this hell...Do not fear, it will only last for a few." "What is your meaning my queen?" Paris had no idea what she meant about destroying this hell they lived in. "To young to know my treacherous husband's sins. I can't do this knowing that you are here. So I want you to leave now, and never look back. Do you have anywhere else to stay? Friends?... I know you don't have any family from the fault of his greed but I cannot help you with that matter." She lightly kissed him on both cheeks, and then slowly tilted his head for her to sweep her lips on his forehead. The queen left silently as she came in but not before she told Paris this. "You have until tomorrow night."
Review Review Review!! My story is almost done, so once you read this you must review! This is my first story I've written on Fanfiction and I need to know if I'm good or not. I don't know the roman number after my last chapter, so you'll have to deal with a numberless chapter.