After careful determination, Julian decided that Prince Paris was still not back to normal. The nervous energy was gone, but it had been replaced by a quiet anxiousness that gave him the aura of being moresad than usualand perhaps even a little scared of something. The boy could understand why he was afraid – the guard had whispered to him to be especially obedient that night because some Greek had frightened him by trying to make him dance. In Julian's impressionable mind all Greeks appeared to be big, strong, and strange; sometimes even speaking in some languages that came across as gibberish in his ears. They were uncouth creatures, monsters of fireside stories, and definitely unfit to speak to his kindly and beautiful master.

"There," he said, smoothing out a wrinkle in the shoulder of the prince's sleeping robe, frowning at how tense he felt. "My lord…." His voice faltered, intimidated momentarily by his own boldness and the guard's warning. Concern for Prince Paris won out and he steeled himself in order to comfort him. "He shouldn't have done those things."

"What?" Paris turned his head, alarmed, to look at his young servant. Who was he talking about? How much did he know or guess?

"That Greek, the one who was going to make you dance with him," elaborated Julian earnestly. "He didn't have the right to upset you so much. Oh, I don't know why you have to spend all that time around those Greeks anyway. You're so nice and pretty that you deserve to be surrounded with only nice people." His eyelids fluttered a bit and he blushed. "I'm sorry; I shouldn't speak so freely with you…"

Paris smiled wistfully at Julian's innocence and, remembering how abruptly he was robbed of his own, realized that he didn't have the heart to tell him that there was no place in the world that only had kind people in it. "I always welcome comfort and kindness, no matter who they come from," he said softly, rising to his feet and surprising the servant by kissing his brow. "Thank you for your words and for the assistance you give me this and every other night. I won't be needing you for anything else this evening, so I bid you good night."

Julian bowed, speechless and flustered, and turned to leave only to pause at the sound of Paris' voice. "Wait!" the prince cried, picking up a wooden goat off the floor. "I believe you dropped this."

"Oh, thank you sire," said Julian, taking the toy and placing it in his pocket. "I would hate to lose him – my father carved him for me and all – but the pockets in the garment have holes and I can't carry him around out in the open. Some of the older children will try to take him from me."

"That is a treasure worth all the gold in Troy if it's a gift from your father," replied Paris, feeling a bit envious and wishing he had such a kind father. King Priam had never given him anything so thoughtful and intended only for his enjoyment. "Don't lose it! Good night."

"Good night."

As always, Paris waited to hear the servants' door slam shut before rising to his feet. He then made his way over to the main door, unlocking it to ensure the ease of Achilles' entrance, and walked to the window. There was none of the nervous preparations that he'd made the previous evening, for too much was running through his mind and he found he could do no more than stare out over the beach and water. The very same beach and water that Achilles wanted him to cross that night, to leave Troy and never return.

Oh, what should he do? All of the agonizing in the world was not helping him reach an acceptable decision. It broke his heart to consider leaving without seeing Hector, without whom he probably wouldn't have known enough about love to return the Greek warrior's feelings. But Hector might not be able to come back for weeks, even months; how long could he expect Achilles to delay forming an alliance in order to stay until then? Even if such a delay was possible, Paris knew that his lover might not be able to control his temper for that long. What if he snapped and did something that would doom him to execution before his brother returned? Paris closed his eyes momentarily; he didn't want to think about all of this! It was so overwhelming, so devastating. All he wanted to do that the moment was be with Achilles.

The door opened but Paris didn't turn around; instead listening and recognizing Achilles by the way he breathed. He continued to stare out the window as the warrior walked over to him and molded the front part of his body against his back, slipping his arms around Paris' waist in a protective embrace. The prince arched against him – an easy task, considering how close their bodies were – and pressed his hind end into Achilles' groin. He sighed almost inaudibly as his anxiety started to melt away. Everything made more sense when he was in Achilles' arms and even more when Achilles was in him.

Achilles felt Paris press himself even closer and smiled. "I missed you," he murmured, lifting the hem of the sleeping garment and slipping his hands underneath. A part of his mind was quick to point out that it was the wrong time to bed his lover, but he silently argued back that it was also the right time. Paris needed comfort and assurance that he loved him; rejecting him in such a vulnerable moment might damage all the confidence he'd managed to build up. Plus, after so many years of fearing physical contact every time it happened between them Paris became a little more bold – he'd asked to be tongue-kissed, invited Achilles to his room, and asked to leave with him. This could give him the nerve to leave that evening in a way that talking couldn't. As Paris gasped with rapture, Achilles also admitted to himself that, after a day of revelations and anxious concern, he too needed to be with his lover right then (and wouldn't have turned him down even if he hadn't).

Paris was now moaning appreciatively. "Do you like this?" teased Achilles in a purr, pressing his open mouth against his throat and running his tongue over the hot, delicious skin.

"Yes," Paris breathed out, thrusting in to Achilles hand and he got closer to his release. "Oh, Apollo! Yes, there! Please!"

The last word came out as a keening cry and Achilles sped his movements, intent on nothing at the moment but bringing his lover to his climax. He fought the urge to lift his own waistcloth and take him there; Paris wasn't ready for that quite yet. Perhaps after they reached his homeland, when they had the time and privacy to start to experiment, would they be able to become more adventurous. "You're close," he stated, breathing a lot of air into Paris' ear and enjoying the feel of his excited shivers. "Let me hear your release."

The prince complied wonderfully, crying out as pleasure swept over him before slumping bonelessly against Achilles, breathing deeply. Achilles pressed a kiss into his temple as he pulled his hands up to the clasp of the sleeping garment that was set about his throat. "Your garment is dirty," he declared playfully. Paris cocked an eyebrow. "You shouldn't wear such a sticky garment to bed."

The clasp gave way and the robe fell easily down his body, pooling around his feet. Paris turned immediately and gave Achilles a deep, passionate kiss, marveling at how right everything felt. He didn't feel exposed, vulnerable, or ashamed of his actions; because of Achilles' love and encouragement he felt cherished, desirable, and protected. Achilles shifted against him and his hardness came into contact with Paris' body, making the boy realize that he also felt a little proud at how the much more experienced warrior responded to him. How could he risk losing that?

Achilles captured Paris' upper lip, holding it between his own before ending the kiss completely. "Do you remember what I taught you?" he asked, caressing his cheek.

"Yes," Paris nodded, biting his lips as his eyes darted down Achilles' body.

"Show me," Achilles encouraged, taking Paris' hand and leading him to the bed. He started to remove his clothing, but then remembered his little fantasy from a few moments earlier. His lover was a little more comfortable with himself and the situation at hand; it would probably be all right to indulge a little if he altered the scenario correctly. He sat down on the edge of the bed fully clothed and adjusted his waistcloth to give Paris easy access before handing him a pillow and pulling him as close as the upcoming activity would allow.

Taking it and kneeling before him, Paris was suddenly nervous. He'd only done this once before – what if he forgot something important? What if he didn't satisfy Achilles? He was secure enough in the Greek's love that he didn't fear being rejected, but it would still be embarrassing. Oh, Apollo, what if he ended up hurting him?

The warrior sensed his apprehension and reached out, cupping his cheek in one large palm and using his other hand to entwine his fingers in Paris' curly hair. "Just like I taught you," he whispered in a soothing tone. The prince immediately felt better and forced himself to bury his remaining worries. "And remember that I love you no matter what."

Paris nodded again as the Greek withdrew his hands. Taking a deep breath, he licked his lips and brought his mouth down upon Achilles, doing anything and everything he recalled from the lesson that took place the previous evening and the other times his lover had done this to him. He believed he was doing everything correctly and Achilles' responses certainly reinforced that notion. "Oh, yes Paris – there! Use – use your tongue – like that! Ooohhh, but the gods you're a good pupil!"

As good as it felt, though, Achilles grabbed Paris' shoulders before he lost control and climaxed. Paris looked him in the eye and they both knew that they were desperate to join together – very, very soon. "Do you have the oil I gave you?" panted Achilles.

Throwing him a look that clearly stated, 'And where else would you think it would be?', Paris got up and walked over to a bureau that was positioned by the head of the bed. "It's right here," he declared, producing the vial from the top drawer and holding it out.

Achilles was almost as pleased at the sight of the oil vial as he was to observe that Paris was aroused again. "Will you join me on the bed?" he asked slyly.

Paris responded with a coy smile as he sat down and swung his legs onto the bed. He even felt bold enough to stretch himself out suggestively and gaze at the warrior with his best come-hither eyes. Achilles took one look at the decadent sight and tore his garments off as quickly as he could before launching his body next to him. Paris was suddenly struck by the memory of jumping on that mattress when he was a young boy and smirked, unable to contain his laughter as another image came to mind, this one of his naked lover bouncing up and down with the same enthusiasm and glee of a child.

"You laugh!" cried Achilles in a teasingly indignant tone. "You won't do so when you feel me at the back of your throat."

He was only partially wrong – Paris' laughter turned to moans sooner than that when Achilles grabbed the Trojan's legs and wrapped them around his waist.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Philo was fully clothed and glaring at Titus as he got dressed at an excruciatingly slow pace. "Why must everything about you be so slow?" he groused. "Your intellect, your reflexes; by the gods, you even took your own sweet time with that!" he added, gesturing to the young man that was lying naked and face-down on the bed.

"I just gave an unforgettable performance," Titus bragged defensively. He patted the prostitute's bare behind, pressing down hard on the sore region just to hear him whimper in pain. "Can you blame me for wanting to savor the moment?"

"I doubt you're that good," retorted Philo with a snort. "But we can always get an assessment from our willing little toy here after we get done with this. Now come on! We need to get to the Greeks' quarters – with how drunk that barbarian was Achilles might still be dragging him there."

They left the room without giving a word to the prostitute on the bed, something that was more than acceptable with Hook. He hurt a lot; two cruel people to please was definitely more horrible than dealing with just one. 'This isn't as bad as it was after being with Lord Isidore after the king told him he could force himself on the prince,' he told himself firmly, trying to ease his own suffering while reminding himself why he had subjected himself to such a thing.

'Please let this be worth it,' he begged silently to whatever deity was listening. He'd done his part; all he could do now was hope and pray that Lord Achilles and Prince Paris made sure that his efforts weren't in vain.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Achilles didn't want to move; all his body wanted to do was wrap around the warm form of Paris and fall into a contented sleep. Unfortunately, being in Troy robbed them of the luxury of holding each other afterwards. Such a thing could only happen between them in his homeland and he knew it was time to set them on their course. After rising from the bed and getting dressed he asked, "Where do you keep your clothing?"

"In that closet," replied Paris, pointing to a particular set of doors that stood opposite the bed and almost blended into the wall.

With no further ado, Achilles marched to them, threw them open, and started pulling out garments. "What are you doing?" asked Paris, sitting up hastily and staring at him with alarm.

"We're leaving Troy tonight," the Greek declared gently but firmly, pleading with his eyes for Paris to agree. "Get dressed."

Paris complied but his internal debate could not be silenced so quickly. "I can't leave yet," he protested weakly, not sounding wholly convinced. How could he ever make such a difficult decision? "I haven't even had the chance to say goodbye to Hector."

Achilles bit his lower lip to keep from snapping that Hector was most likely as big a threat to Paris well being as Priam and Isidore, being that he was the king's heir and presumably deep in his council. "I can't protect you here much longer," he argued instead. "You'll be safe in my homeland. Your brother can even visit – if he behaves himself," he added, so as not to lie to his beloved. "But we must leave now."

Any response that Paris was going to give was cut off as the door crashed open.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

They were going to be in huge trouble. Titus and Philo guessed this when they arrived at a very quiet Greeks' quarters and knew it for a fact after they searched every room. Achilles wasn't there; neither was the drunk. One of the private chambers reserved for leaders as well as a large communal sleeping area had been cleared of all personal possessions. They were forced to conclude that one of the Greek subgroups – Ithacians and Myrmidons – was planning on leaving in secret and the guards had a sinking feeling that it was the latter one. That little drunken scene had been nothing more than an act! They'd been duped! There was nothing to do but race to Paris' bedchamber and hope that they weren't too late.

The prince's guard was standing outside the doorway, oblivious to all the drama that was taking place. Hearing footsteps coming down the dark corridor he squinted, trying to make out the figures running in his direction. "Who –"

Not in the proper mindset to make up a believable lie, Philo drew his sword and hit him in the head with the hilt before the oblivious fool could identify them. "We can say that he was helping that brute, trying to stop us from stopping him," he explained hurriedly to Titus, who was staring dumbly at him. "Or we can say that Myrmidons did it. It doesn't matter now – help me get that door open!"

Together they grabbed the knob and threw all of their weight into pushing the door open, an exercise that proved to be unnecessary since it was unlocked. It banged open dramatically from all the force, the frame cracking astheylaid eyes onParis and Achilles standing in the center of the room staring at them in shock.

"Prince Paris!" shouted Philo, feigning concern while actually relieved that they were both still fully clothed. "We heard a strange voice…."

Then it hit them: the smell of sex, something that they were quite familiar with that evening, hung heavily in the air. Philo was disgusted; Paris had gone ahead and ruined everything for them just to have sex with an animalistic barbarian. Well then, if that was the way the little whore liked it he would gladly accommodate him. "Well my prince," he leered scornfully, undressing Paris with his eyes. "Are you getting started a couple of years early?"

Achilles could stand no more. He'd endured witnessing Priam and Isidore's treatment of Paris, Odysseus' recount of what he'd heard about the Trojan king's plans for his youngest son, and the hints from the prostitutes that the prince was in danger. Being confronted with these guards standing there in the one place that they could be alone in the city wrenched his stomach. Hearing one of them practically compare their love-making to what Isidore did with those poor young men who ended up in the palace harem sent him over the edge. In a blind rage he pulled out the long knife he always hid in his boot and rammed it through Philo's vile throat. Titus gave a wordless cry and grabbed at his sword but Achilles withdrew the knife and repeated the stabbing with the other guard before he had the chance to draw it.

Shaking a bit as the haze in his mind cleared, Achilles grabbed Paris' arm. "Come," he urged. The prince stared at the dead bodies on the floor but did not resist as he was dragged out of the room.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Thanks to the evening festivities that would continue on long after they departed and the general lateness of the hour, the pair was able to make it out of the palace and through the streets with relative ease. Actually getting through the gates was a little more complicated, but few guards were on duty. Those who were guarding the walls had a lot of ground to cover while being drowsy; they weren't looking for people trying to sneak out of the city, giving Achilles and Paris the chance to do just that without getting caught.

They were almost to the official borders of the beach when Paris stumbled, falling to his knees. "Are you all right?" asked Achilles urgently. "I can carry you if you need me to."

"They knew," said Paris numbly. The worried Greek kneeled down in front of him. "I thought that only my father and Isidore knew, but those guards did too. Oh gods, they got into my bedchamber! What if you hadn't been there, Achilles?"

"I was there," replied Achilles, drawing him into a fierce embrace. "I will always be there. No one will ever hurt you as long as I'm there to prevent it."

"I can't stay here," Paris sobbed. "They got into my bedchamber –everyone might know and they could get in there without my consent as well. It's not safe to wait for Hector, Achilles; I can't stay in Troy another night."

"You won't have to," Achilles declared, bringing them both to their feet. "Can you go on?" Paris nodded mutely.

"There's a ship waiting to take us far away from here," the warrior reminded him. "All we have to do is get there."

Hand-in-hand Achilles and Paris ran the rest of the way down the beach and to the water, to the ship that promised to bear them to a new beginning.

To be concluded…

A/N: To be concluded probably, I should say. There will most likely be one more chapter, but if I need to cover too much stuff there will be two. I hope you don't mind that this chapter's longer than the others; there was no good stopping point and I wanted to get through all of this in one chapter anyway.