Paris kept his head low and his shoulders hunched as he slunk closer and closer to the chambers in the palace where the Greeks were quartered. Having spent most of his time confined in that palace, he knew all the secret nooks and shadowy corners, allowing him to hide and sneak past the Trojan guards. But once he entered those rooms he'd be forced to walk in the open; his only chance at slipping past any Greek sentries was to be as inconspicuous as possible. The beads that usually held his hair back were gone, giving some of his face some shielding, and he was dressed in his plainest clothes with no jewelry. He'd considered wearing a hood and cloak but realized that someone lurking indoors in such attire would be even more noticeable.

'This is it,' thought Paris as he approached the entryway, which mercifully lacked any doorwardens. 'I have to do this for Achilles,' he told himself over and over again as he opened the door just wide enough and slipped inside.

Noise filled the room as Greek soldiers milled about. Most of them were Myrmidons – Paris could tell by their manner of dress – with some warriors from Ithaca intermingled throughout the crowd. What struck Paris the most about the scene was the obvious camaraderie between the men. They were talking, laughing, drunkenly singing obscene songs, and sharing fanciful (and undeniably exaggerated) conquests. It stopped the prince in his tracks for a moment. He'd never spent much time around people around his own age. His father had always insisted on locking him away from anyone and everyone who could have been his friend. He'd only had a vague notion of what he was missing, but now seeing such open displays of friendship for the first time made him realize how lonely he truly was.

No time for self-pity now, though; he had to get to Achilles. It was time to go – where? Paris leaned against the wall and discretely banged his head. He'd been so worried about getting into the chambers that he didn't stop once to think about what he was going to do once he was actually there. There was no telling if Achilles was in the crowd or not and there was no way he could navigate his way though to see without getting found out. Besides, there was a maze of separate smaller rooms in these quarters – he could be anywhere!

As he stood there berating himself and wondering what to do now, a larger figure came up behind him and grabbed his arm. Paris, his nerves already frayed and very out of his element, gasped in surprise and fear and tried to pull away.

The grip on his arm held firm. "And what would the youngest prince of Troy be doing here among us barbarians?" asked a gruff voice. "Come to join in our festivities?"

Paris turned slowly to face the angry dark-haired Myrmidon. "I'd hoped to go unnoticed," he blurted out, immediately regretting his choice of words.

The man sneered. "You wanted to slum with the commoners in anonymity, huh?" he scoffed. "Even dressed down – well, as much as a spoiled little prince can – so you could blend in better. Don't want the nobles knowing what common tastes in entertainment you have. Was that your plan?" He shook the prince a little. "Answer me!"

Their confrontation had drawn a crowd as word quickly got around that Paris of Troy was unexpectedly in their presence. Before that evening the men might have been just curious, but now a Trojan noble had challenged their leader. Paris could feel the suspicion and hostility in their glares. "It's not like that," he protested, both about the voiced and unvoiced accusations. "I need to speak with the Lord Achilles."

Murmurs broke out in the crowd. The boy cried out in alarm as the dark-haired man tightened his grip. "And why would Achilles be interested in anything that a pampered little Trojan has to say?"

"If you have to ask that question, Eudores, then you are truly a half-wit," commented a blonde young man not much older than Paris as he stepped between them. Under the heat of his scowl Eudores reluctantly let the prince go, but didn't move away.

"I'm Patroclus," the interloper introduced himself. "The cousin of Achilles."

Feeling a little more at ease upon hearing the kindness in Patroclus' voice Paris smiled shyly. "I thought you looked a lot like him," he said nervously. "I'm Paris."

"He knows that already," Eudores broke in. "We're not stupid, no matter what you Trojans seem to think."

"Maybe he's just trying to be polite," snapped Patroclus as Paris flushed. "Pay him no mind, Paris."

"I need to talk to Achilles," pleaded the prince. "His life is in danger."

"Achilles is the greatest warrior in the world, boy." Eudores once again couldn't hold his tongue. "That Trojan is no threat to him. You're just trying to get that insolent bastard out of having to face him! Having an affair with him, I would think."

Patroclus rolled his eyes. "Further proof that you haven't quite mastered thinking yet," he mocked, clearly annoyed.

"No!" cried Paris. "I'm not trying to do anything like that! And I'm not – I wouldn't – I'm –"

"Don't worry," Patroclus assured him warmly. "I've seen the way my cousin looks at you. I also saw how you smiled at him last night. I believe you have his best interests in mind. Proceed."

Paris gave him a grateful look. "Achilles is being set up," he confided urgently.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

That he had a fight the next day was the only reason why Achilles was preparing for sleep instead of out in the common chambers with his men. He wanted to be in peak form when he tore apart that vile Trojan in the arena.

He was almost o bed when a sharp, urgent knock sounded on his door. "What is it?" he barked.

"We must come in, cousin!" Patroclus' voice answered. "It can't wait!"

Achilles groaned in irritated resignation. "Then come in and be quick about it."

The door swung open and Patroclus came in, flanked by Eudores and – "Paris!" Achilles cried, surprised and alarmed. What had happened to drive his young love into Greek quarters in the middle of the night? He rushed forward, grabbed the boy's face, and planted a kiss on his mouth. "What brings you here?"

"A ridiculous story about your life being in jeopardy," scoffed Eudores.

Achilles shot him a look that made his blood run cold. "Hold your tongue before I cut it out," the warrior growled. His face and tone softened as he turned back to Paris. "Now what's this all about?" he questioned, caressing his cheek with the back of his hand.

"Lord Isidore is setting you up," Paris informed him. "He thinks that you're going to slay Lucius during the fight tomorrow –"

"I am." Achilles' voice was as hard as stone.

Paris' face paled. "You can't," he begged softly.

"I can and I will," said Achilles simply. "Do you know what he muttered to me when he issued that challenge? He threatened to rape you, Paris! How could I not put an end to his horrible existence?"

"No," said a shocked Paris, shaking his head. "That doesn't make any sense. Lucius serves under my brother; he's always seemed like a good and noble soldier –"

"He is a monster," Achilles spat out. "Don't defend him!"

"Let's try to be rational about this for a moment," interjected Patroclus. "Does anyone beside the people in this room know about your relationship?"

"Just Odysseus."

"And Lord Isidore," sighted Paris. Achilles looked at him sharply, silently demanding an explanation. "He saw us, Achilles; he was watching everything that happened last night in the garden. He told me so himself after Lucius issued his challenge. I saw them talking earlier; he must have incited him in some way."

"Or else that vile man told him what he saw," argued Achilles stubbornly. "They must be in cahoots and he decided to use that information and his own twisted desires against me."

"I'm sure that he doesn't' know that anything actually happened between us," Paris stressed desperately. "If he did and he were the monster that you think he is, why issue the challenge at all? It would be easier just to blackmail me into his bed. And if he's the good man that I believe him to be, he would have told my father about it immediately, out of concern for the honor of the royal family."

"And if he didn't know at all," added Patroclus sagely, "then why say anything about Paris? Unless, of course, he thinks that you're the threat."

Eudores wore a pained expression. "They're right, my lord," he conceded.

Achilles rubbed his and over his face. "Okay, fine," he said. "Let's say for a moment that all of this is true. How could Lord Isidore be setting me up? Everyone knows very well that I've fought warriors with more skills than that Lucius will ever have without even getting a scratch."

"He's counting on it being a battle to the death," Paris explained. "It is against the laws of this land for one opponent to kill another opponent in an official challenge, which is what this became when my father sanctioned it. A noble who breaks that rule will most likely be able to avoid punishment, but you're a stranger in the city with no agreements or treaties protecting you yet. The fact that you're a foreigner would push all of this over the edge and you'd be put to death immediately."

For once in his life, Achilles didn't know how to proceed. "I have to fight him, Paris," he asserted weakly. "My honor and reputation would be destroyed if I didn't."

"Then fight him," replied Paris matter-of-factly. "Just don't kill him. Control your temper."

"Do you realize what that's asking of me?" demanded the Greek incredulously. "I've never controlled my temper in a battle! And now you want me to enter into a fighting arena with a man who most likely wants to kill me and yet try to restrain myself?"

"I don't want you to die!" confessed Paris, impassioned. He ducked his head, embarrassed by his outburst. "Just the thought of that happening breaks my heart."

"Oh, Paris," murmured Achilles, feeling his resolve crumble. "I'll try. I won't make you a promise that I might not be able to keep, but for you I'll try."

Paris wrapped his arms around him, reveling in the warmth and love that surrounded him as the Greek embraced him. "Thank you," he whispered as the tension left his body. Then he realized something that he was too worked up to notice before. "Are you naked?"

Achilles pulled away, trying very hard – and failing – not to give him a teasing grin. "I was getting ready for bed," he offered in way of an explanation. "I don't wear clothes to bed; it's uncomfortable."

Paris turned beet-red. "I believe that's my cue to show Paris to the door," observed Patroclus.

"One moment," said Achilles as he wrapped a blanket around his waist. He grabbed the seashell necklace that his mother had given him off of a nearby table. "I want you to have this," he told Paris as he tied it around the boy's neck. "I'll feel better knowing that it's in your keeping. It's yours now, no matter what happens tomorrow."

Leaning in, Paris kissed Achilles in the way the warrior had taught him in the garden. "You are the reason why, for the first time in year, I look forward to the coming of new days," he declared, his voice shaking with emotion. "Please, please do everything in your power to ensure that you'll be there with me for each and every one of those days."

To be continued...

A/N: Happy All Saints Day, people!