Paris stared up at the ceiling of his chambers, Oenone's body comfortably warm beside him. He closed his eyes momentarily, rescuing the quickly scattering vestiges of the dream he had just moments ago.
He dreamt that Iris had come to him, and that she was bringing a message to him from Hera. Iris told him that he was to set out on a long journey to the east as soon as he could arrange it, but that he should do this alone, and that no one should accompany him.
"Your journey will take you many days to accomplish, but at the end, you will find a great reward," Iris had told him in his dream
And then he awoke.
Do I even wish to go on this journey, he wondered to himself. He opened his eyes, and gazed upon Oenone's head, her beautiful hair cascading down from her scalp in waves silvered by the moonlight, spilling across his chest and over the pillows and sheets. He smiled, and wrapped his arms around her, drawing her closer to him. Who would want to leave such peace, such love, behind?
I will not go on that journey, he thought resolutely as he closed his eyes once more. Hera could keep her reward; he did not need it. He had all that he needed with him, and he was content.
He walked down a hallway lined with many pillars; each one made of white marble and polished to such a lustrous sheen that he doubted a fly could have landed on the surface without sliding off.
He did not know how long he had been walking, and he did not know why he was doing so. He wanted to stop, wanted to keep his feet from moving, but he was unable to do so. It was as if another mind forced him to move forward, move onward, towards the very end of the corridor.
The soft light of fires soon came within his sight. The tiny points of light slowly increased in brightness the closer he came until, at last, they became hot infernos blazing in immense braziers. The braziers themselves stood around an empty throne.
It was only then that he realized he once more had free reign over his body. He looked around, trying to see past the ring of light cast by the braziers, but his eyes could not pierce the darkness beyond. He turned his focus to the throne instead, and was surprised to find that there were things lying on it.
A tall spear stood next to the backrest of the throne, its tip rising slightly higher than the backrest itself. A shield rested against the side of the throne, embossed with many intricate designs in gold. A sword sheathed in its scabbard rested on the seat of the throne itself, along with a crown of gold.
"Those are the accoutrements of he who will be master of Greece and Asia."
He jumped, and turned around to the source of the voice. "Who is that?"
A shape materialized from the shadows. It was a woman, clad in fabrics fit for a queen, with a golden crown resembling battlements perched on her head. Her eyes glinted as she smiled. "Greetings, Prince of Troy. How fare your dreams?"
Paris took a step backwards, the back of his legs coming into contact with the cold stone of the throne. "Hera!"
The goddess tilted her head back slightly in acknowledgement before she started walking towards him. Paris stepped aside, thinking that she was moving towards him, but she did not. Instead, she moved towards the throne, picking up the sword and drawing it out of its sheath.
"This is a mighty weapon," she murmured, and Paris watched as the edge glimmered as if edged with white-hot light. Hera lifted her gaze to Paris. "It could have been yours."
Paris blinked in confusion. "What do you mean?"
Hera shrugged as she sheathed the sword again, and placed it back where she had picked it up. "Had you not decided to give up and remain in Troy, you could have sat upon this throne, worn this sword at your waist, and had this crown upon your head.
"Many, many years from now, a man who shares your name – Alexandros – will conquer all of Greece, and come close to ruling Asia as well. He will be a foreigner, like you, and he will sweep the Greek cities aside. One by one, they will fall to him. Athens and Sparta, once so proud and secure in their own strength, will be nothing to him, and he will unite the divided Greek cities under his rule.
"After that, he will go on a great campaign that will lead him east, into lands that none during his time or before ever dreamed existed." Her lips tilted in a smile as she pinned Paris with her gaze. "But why wait for a namesake to claim what could just as easily be yours?"
Paris understood then what she was talking about. He straightened his stance, trying to look the goddess in the eye so she could see his resolve. "I do not wish to be further involved in this. I am happy with what I have now. You may keep your reward, for I have no need of it."
Hera's eyes narrowed dangerously. "You would turn down the reward of a goddess?" Her voice was low and cold, chilling Paris to the bone.
When he gave her no reply, she strode up to him, and Paris felt himself shrinking the closer she came to him. She might not have been any taller than he, but her presence was overwhelming. Now, standing in such close proximity to her, he felt as if he were a child again, faced with his mother's wrath.
"The blessings of the gods are not so easily returned once they have been given, Paris of Troy," she muttered. She smiled then – a smile that curdled his blood. "And remember this: the gods can take away just as easily as they can give. I have given you fortune, and a chance to do more. Just as easily as I gave you those things, I can take away everything that you now have, and more besides. I can break you and reduce you to nothing more than a speck of existence, a blot on the face of the earth."
Paris' heart started beating wildly at the thought of the threat. She could – and would – take away everything. She could easily give success to any one of Troy's rivals, and they would bring Troy to its knees. She could take away his newfound family, Oenone, everything.
Fear tightened its hold on his throat and limbs. He could not afford to lose everything he had, everything that he held precious to him.
Hera, perhaps sensing his fear and seeing his thoughts, smiled, and stepped back. "Remember my words, Prince of Troy," she murmured, and though her voice was soft, her words had lost none of their coldness. "Do not take the rewards of the gods lightly, or you may find yourself with nothing at all."
"No, no, leave them alone, I beg you, please…"
Oenone stared down at her husband's face; worry hanging like a cloud over her features. His dreams were troubling him, and he could not break away from them.
"Paris?" She whispered his name, calling to him, hoping that her voice would be like a lure that would lead him out of his nightmare and back into the waking world. "Paris, my love, wake up."
He stopped muttering, and his body relaxed, the tension in his body slackening little by little. Oenone lifted her hand to his face, and tenderly smoothed away the frown that contorted his beautiful face. She leaned closer to his ear, and whispered, "Wake up, my love. Wake up and leave your dark dreams behind."
Paris' lips parted in a soft sigh then, and in moments his eyes fluttered open. At first they seemed unfocused, distant, as if he could not see her, but he blinked, and his gaze fixed upon her face. "Oenone?"
She smiled at her husband. "You were having a bad dream, my love," she told him gently, never ceasing in her soothing caresses. "You were talking in your sleep, and I was afraid."
"A dream…" Paris inhaled, and sighed. "Yes, a dream, but not a bad one."
"If it was not bad, then what was it?"
"It was a message – or rather, a warning."
Now Oenone was certain something was wrong. She pushed herself up so that she was leaning on her elbows, and looking down on her husband's face. "Paris, please, you must-"
The smile on Paris' face – so sad, and so heartbreaking – made her tongue still in her mouth. He reached up, and gently stroked her face with his hand. "I must go on a journey, my love. It will be a long one, and will take me to distant lands – and far away from you. But I must do it, or else risk losing everything that I hold precious to me. I do not want to lose you."
Oenone was confused. He had never spoken of having to go on a journey before. "I do not understand…"
Paris sat up, and leaned forward, kissing her gently, lingeringly, on the mouth. And she felt fear race down her spine when she tasted the hint of something bittersweet upon his lips. Whatever he had to do, it could possibly take him away from her – forever.
"You must forgive me, then, for I cannot tell you." Paris' voice was low with regret and shame. "I do not wish you to be too involved in this. What the gods ask me to do, I must do alone."
Fear once more stabbed its cruel, remorseless blade into Oenone's heart. "So it was a message from the gods," she whispered, unable to speak any louder than that. Her hands tightened their hold on the sheet, her knuckles going white. "What sin have I committed against them that they would take you away from me?"
Paris shook his head fiercely. "You have done nothing, Oenone. You have not sinned against the gods. It was I who has sinned against them, for refusing to accept what they would have given me. And now, I have no choice but to accept their 'gift,' if it may be called that."
"Why accept it, then? If you do not desire it, why are you being forced to take it?"
"Because, just as the gods can easily give what we desire, they can take away everything that we hold dear."
Oenone bowed her head, and was unable to stop the tears that pearled at the corners of her eyes and dropped onto her clenched hands, sparkling like sea spray in the morning light. "I do not want to lose you."
Paris reached out, and held her in a warm, loving embrace. Oenone tried to brand the memory of this moment in her mind – for it could very well be the last one she had with him.
"I will come back," he told her, his voice resolute and determined. "I promise."
And yet Oenone's heart was troubled, for what did mortal promises mean in the face of the gods?
The sun shone warm on Troy that day, but it did not touch the cold that settled on Oenone's heart.
Hera leaned back against the backrest of her couch, a smug smile on her face. Iris had not gotten her point across to Paris, so she decided that it would be better if she talked to him directly.
"Hmmm, blackmail. You're a real dangerous woman when you put your mind to it, you know that?"
Hera looked up quickly upon hearing the voice, and glared when she saw who had spoken. "What are you doing here?"
Free Choice wrinkled his nose slightly, though his eyes twinkled with humor. "Do you want me to tell you everything again?"
Hera scowled. It is a pity that I cannot do anything to him, she thought. She would thoroughly enjoy making him suffer.
Nevertheless she leaned back, eyeing him darkly. "I am surprised you were not present when Paris made his decision. I had assumed that you would be there, ready to thwart my plans."
"I just thought that it would be more fun if I left well enough alone this time," Free Choice replied as he picked up an apple from a nearby platter of fruit, and bit into it. "You do realize where this story is going to go now, right?"
"I do."
"And you do know the consequences?"
Hera nodded stiffly. She had not liked the consequences when Zeus told her, but she would have to put up with them.
Free Choice grinned. "Good. A game plays so much better when everyone knows the rules." With that, he turned around, and walked away, leaving a seething Hera behind.