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Briseis shut her eyes tightly for a moment, despising her lack of courage, her failure in not being able to control her emotions.
"What is your name?"
Her eyes flickered open tentatively as she heard his voice for the first time, a strong commanding voice laced with arrogance.
He expects me to answer. She thought scornfully. Well, I shall not. I will not reveal my name and have him utter it like he would to a cheap whore!
"Did you not hear me?" He spoke again, a cool lilt to his tone.
Briseis tossed her head away from him haughtily, her long hair curtaining the side of her face as she openly ignored his question. Or rather, demand. Briseis thought spitefully. Then she chose to reply, but not to his question.
"You killed Apollo's priests." Her voice thick with emotions and suppressed sobs. Images of the innocent priests being slaughtered mercilessly flashed across her mind in vivid colors.
"The Sun-god will have his vengeance." she proceeded, trying to strike some fear into the fearless man.
"Then what is he waiting for?" He questioned in an amused, calm voice, as though talking to an ignorant child. His blue eyes almost seemed to sparkle with mirth, but Briseis knew that such was impossible.
"The right time to strike!" Briseis shot back, her voice trembling as she steadied it. She took in a deep breath to calm herself; her chest was already racked with silent sobs.
"His priests lie dead and his acolyte held captive. Perhaps he fears." he countered smoothly, his face serious. He looked neither bored nor entertained.
"Apollo is master of the Sun! There is nothing…" Briseis cried out, her confident voice dying down to a low murmur. She lowered her eyes tiredly. It seemed like he had set that up to make her look a fool, justifying her religion.
"Where is he?" he pushed further.
"You are nothing but a killer! You wouldn't know anything about the Gods!" Briseis shot back, her words filled with loath.
"I know more about the Gods than your priests. I've seen them." He stated blandly. Briseis turned to look up at him, purely amazed at the self-righteousness he flaunted.
All of a sudden, he strode in her direction, a twisted expression on his face.
"You're royalty, aren't you?" He paused momentarily in his footsteps. It was a question, but when he said it, it became a statement because he knew she was. There was no need for questions.
Silence prevailed in the stifling heat before she heard loud steady footfalls proceeding towards her. Whipping her head up to face him with what she could only hope was courage written on her face, she looked at him squarely in the eye.
Are you going to have me killed for not obeying? Briseis scoffed, almost daring him to take up his knife and kill her. What could be easier? She challenged with flashing eyes though her ears throbbed with the panicked beating of her heart.
His expression did not waver for once and he stood, towering over her tiny frame, calmly tying a knot to his toga bottom.
"Spent your whole life talking down to men." He added to no one in particular, as if reaffirming the fact to himself, that she was, indeed, Trojan royalty.
He knelt down beside her and she stiffened. Stopping her fidgeting at once, her heart seemed to come to a stop so sudden that her breathing ceased almost altogether. Brushing away the wet streaks on her face, she looked at him out of the corner of her eye.
Nothing could have prepared her for what he did next. Threading his fingers through a few locks of her hair, he gently lifted it to his face and breathed in its scent, before proceeding to let it slide through his fingers like flour in a sieve.
"You must be royalty." He concluded with a nod of his head, understated confidence accompanying it. He was right. And even if he was not, his tone implied that she was because he had said so.
She sat there on the ground, stunned and yet petrified by his actions. She did not know what to make of it. It was something lovers did, like how she had seen Hector do to Andromache's hair and Paris to Helen's. It was not something captors did to their captives. Just one simple action like that and he had her mind spinning.
He asked once more. "What is your name?" This time, more firmly.
"Even the servants of Apollo have names," he stated surely. From the amused glint in his eyes, Briseis knew he was confident he would soon receive her name.
She could not win this battle of words. Her eyes burning with curses for him, she felt her heart swell with a renewed detest for him. His reserved cockiness and arrogance to get his way made her hands itch to pull him apart.
"Briseis." She informed emotionlessly. How she wished she could have screamed in reply, but it was her name and she would not do it injustice by seeming to spit upon it.
Defeated once more, twice in one day, she slumped back against the hard pole and rested her weary head upon her shoulder. A tear slid down her cheek. She was sick of all this, sick of no rest and water, sick of having to have her guard up all the time.
One day has not yet passed! Have you forgotten about Troy, or your brave cousins?
Hector! Her heart soared with new determination. He had always loved her like a sister; surely he would not lose faith so easily that she was still alive? He would come and save her, like he had done so often before!
Briseis shifted her weight around, stirring the numb bones in her body. She tensed, alert, ready for what he would next do.
Before she could even register what he might possibly want her to do, he had picked up a dull gold knife and bent down close to her. She wrestled and fought to get away, straining her head away from him, more tears pricking helplessly at her eyes.
But to her relief and amazement, he cut the ropes in one swift stroke, freeing her imprisoned wrists. Instinctively, she clutched them protectively in her hands, massaging and soothing the raw nerves with her fingers. She held them close to her chest, looking up to him suspiciously every now and then.
He returned her gaze with a steely, confident look in his eyes, but there was a milder look residing within.
No words of explanation came to answer her questions and he reached forward to cut the leather bounds on her feet.
"Are you afraid Briseis?" his voice came. This time, it came much closer than before and she turned to face him, her features drawn tight with defense. He had bent down beside her so now they were at eye level. His voice, she noted, was much softer than before, and they were so close, that she could feel the warm stickiness of his breath brush at her skin.
She shivered involuntarily, feeling uncertain.
"Should I be?" she bit back a little too loudly and strongly.
"What do you want here in Troy?" she asked bitterly before he could respond. "You didn't come for the Spartan Queen."
Slowly he turned to look at her, and she found herself gazing into those blue eyes, yet again wondering what emotions lay beneath his stone heart.
"What would all men want?" he murmured softly, "I just wanted more."
At his words she fell silent, not wanting to look into his eyes but yet unable to look elsewhere. Briseis continued rubbing her wrists, her mind in a state of confusion.
"You have nothing to fear from me. I will not harm you." He informed her stately, as though he was reciting from written words. But there was an evident tone of affirmation in his words and somehow, the anger in Briseis was quelled slightly.
"You are the only Trojan I can say that to." He added after a moment's thought and pause. Just as the words came out of his mouth, the leather flaps rustled once more and they both turned to see the intruder.
Briseis groaned softly, like a whisper the heat soon glazed over. Her head was starting to ache terribly. She did not want to think anymore! Everything had become so confusing, so twisted, so uncertain! She had awakened as the niece of Priam, cousin to Hector and Paris, assured in their protection and love, comforted by their presence. Now she would go to bed a slave girl, a whore to Greek enemies, and she would awake to a future that would be bleak and hopeless, to the ghost arms of a love that she would recall wistfully with sadness and heartbreak.
It was the same man whom had spoken to Achilles before he had entered. Briseis got a good look at him. He had raven black hair, thickly matted and twisted together and he wore a band of graying cloth around his forehead. His eyes were a deep blue. They were clear and striking but what would have once been youthful blue eyes sparkling with spirit and adventure, these blue eyes were now considerably dulled from the scars of constant battle.
Then he spoke cautiously, his words directed at Achilles.
"My Lord, King Agamemnon requests your presence immediately. The Kings are gathering to celebrate the victory."
Briseis peered at his face carefully, waiting for his reaction to an order, that was for once, meant for him. She squirmed and shifted uncomfortably as his gaze remained fixated on her and she tried to mask her discomfort with detest in her eyes.
Her feeling of discomfort and uneasiness did not cease and instead increased. It was not a lie that she detested him, hated him with all her might. Then why did she feel like she was telling one with her eyes?
"You fought bravely today." He said to him, looking back to face him before turning back towards her.
His clear blue eyes rested on her with much comfort and ease, she could tell. He was inspecting her, trying to understand, it seemed. But his eyes did not give him away, nor did his body language, and Briseis was again left to wonder for herself.
"My Lord…" the raven-haired man replied uncertainly.
"He can wait." Achilles shot back in a firm voice.
The man at the entrance nodded his head respectfully and disappeared in a crisp rustling of coarse leather.
Contradictory to his words, Achilles began to wipe himself in an orderly, quick manner and headed for the entrance, pulling on a black armor-like-vest.
"Stay in the tent, you'll be safe. You have my word." He ordered shortly, giving her a quick glance before he walked out in the midst of swaying leather flaps, his brilliant sword in tow.
Unless she was mistaken, and she desperately hoped she was, his eyes had beheld a stern kindness. Stern, but it was kindness nonetheless.
Captors mistreat their captives! They are cruel! Briseis tried to reason, tears dangerously close to pouring down her cheeks. Being kind will benefit me! It will do me good!
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