Hello all. Thank you for all of your wonderful reviews!
Please enjoy this chapter. I'm told it's sad, so grab the tissues.
I will continue Reborn Innocence soon; my Troy muse was just eating away at me.
Paris propped himself up with his elbows on the side of the boat, gazing out to sea, a mass of deep blue, except for the light of the moon. The calming sound of waves caressing the side of the ship set his troubled mind at ease for sometime, before returning to his thoughts.
He had left his home behind. Troy, the place where he had been raised and happy, was nothing more than a memory to him now. Several times he had turned around to see if he could see the shoreline, but he had only seen darkness.
The former prince thought of his life before Helen and Sparta and the war. He had been foolish; thinking one night stands actually meant something when they had only been a few hours of pleasure. He remembered seeing Helen at Sparta; her golden hair had been elaborately done up, and her sea blue eyes had sparkled with an unknown pain. From the moment her set eyes on her he wished to ease that pain, but now feared he had caused her more by leaving her alone in Troy. He had been stupid; there wasn't another way to put it. His love had taken over him and he had brought Helen with him to Troy. He wanted to ease her inner suffering about being with Menelaus and wanted to love and cherish her. He had caused this war, and he would never feel release from the guilt. He achingly recalled Hector's disappointed expression when he had told him about Helen.
Hector....
Paris' eyes filled with tears at thinking of his beloved brother. He missed him dearly; with him, he had always had a loving pair of strong arms to snuggle into, a shoulder to cry on.
He felt a heavy feeling in his stomach-loss. He would never see his father again, Briseis, or anyone who he had ever been friends with or knew. They would most likely be killed, or taken prisoner to the Greeks. Troy would be burned.
The feeling in his stomach intensified, and Paris frowned. He felt a sudden wave of dizziness, and then vomited over the edge of the boat. Feeling dazed for sometime, Paris lay down on the deck of the boat until he began to feel better.
The Trojan attributed the sick feeling to sea sickness—why else would he be ill? An unexpected, stabbing pain resounded in his lower body, and he almost cried out. What was going on? Was he healing properly?
Unwanted memories invaded Paris' thoughts, and he weakly pushed them away.
After long moments of staring up into the black night sky, Paris shakily stood up. Despite feeling sick, he resumed his gazing—until a soft "Paris?" made him turn around quickly.
Achilles stood behind him on the deck, looking concerned. His long golden hair was in disarray and was clad only in a sleeping robe. Paris smiled softly and his features relaxed.
"Aye, it is me, Achilles," he said softly, and beckoned for his love to join him. Achilles returned the gentle smile and walked up behind Paris, before carefully folding his arms around him. Paris tensed only for a minute, and then reclined into his lover's strong form.
The two watched the silvery moon for sometime in silence, before Achilles spoke. "Why did you come out here alone, Paris? I woke and nearly panicked when you were not near me."
Paris sighed quietly. "I could not sleep, and my mind needed clearing. The sea has always had a calming effect on me," the young man said. He took a deep breath and inhaled Achilles' spicy scent. He loved moments like these; he felt safe and cherished in Achilles' embrace.
Achilles tucked Paris' head under his own. He knew that Paris was upset about leaving Troy, but they both would have paid dearly if they had stayed.
"I love you," Achilles mumbled into Paris' soft brown curls, and then placed a kiss on his smooth forehead.
"I love you as well," Paris whispered, and closed his eyes, trying to get rid of the newest bout of nausea he was feeling. He decided against telling Achilles of his sudden sickness, knowing the man would overreact.
"Come," Achilles began, and took Paris' slender hand. "We should sleep. You are still recovering."
Paris nodded, ignoring the ominous tug at the back of his mind.
The two went to lie down, and Achilles gave Paris a quick parting kiss on his hand. His own 'bed' was a few feet away from Paris' few blankets that were being used for a mattress, as Paris had timidly requested not to sleep next to him so closely. Achilles had looked hurt at first, but then quickly regained his composure and reassured Paris that he understood.
Paris turned on his side, wrapped up in a wool coverlet. He felt as thought his very being was on fire; his lower body ached badly and he felt sweat covering his forehead. Yet he was freezing.
After tossing and turning for hours, Paris fell into a restless sleep, full of nightmares and pain.
"Paris? Paris! Please wake up, my love," came Achilles' hazy voice. Paris opened his eyes and then immediately shut them, seeing double of his lover's face. A burning sensation took over his head and he moaned softly.
"He is ill, Achilles. He must have an infection from the rape," came Odysseus' worried voice. Paris vaguely felt someone touch his brow gently, but then they jerked their hand away.
"He has an infectious fever. He must not have healed enough before we came on the ship. Paris needs medicine quickly, Achilles, or this could get deadly."
Paris was struck with a terrible wave of pain through his lower body and nausea once more, and he vomited onto the floor. He could feel the sweat dripping off of his weakened form, and he stifled back an agonized moan.
He felt someone gently wipe his mouth off with a soft cloth, and then put a cool, water soaked cloth on his forehead. Achilles' strong hand stroked his damp hair soothingly, and Paris began to feel slightly better. Unfortunately, the brief feeling of relief left him quickly, and he again emptied the contents of his stomach, which was barely anything. He felt Achilles' hands tenderly holding his brown curls back from his face as his body shivered and heaved wildly, trying to rid itself of something that wasn't there. Utterly exhausted, Paris uncomprehendingly collapsed back onto Achilles' warm body, and darkness filled his mind almost immediately.
Achilles stared at his lover's still form for some moments; worry and fear was eating away at his very soul. Paris' body was hot and damp, and his breathing was ragged. Achilles felt very much like he did the night he found Paris motionless and bleeding at the Greek camp; helpless.
A terrible feeling of guilt overwhelmed him; had they left too soon? If he hadn't moved Paris, would the Trojan be well?
He forced himself to calm down. If this was an infection, it would have started before they had sailed. They hadn't had many medical supplies left from the battles, so the medicines Paris took weren't very strong.
Odysseus watched with sad eyes. The infection was ravaging Paris' already weak body and things would continue to get worse before they got better.
Achilles gently laid Paris down onto the floor of the ship, and then turned to Odysseus.
"I want the entire ship searched for any healing herbs or elixirs. There is a chance they left some behind," Achilles ordered, and then made to undress Paris and bath him in cool water. He desperately wanted to ease his lover's pain.
"Achilles, I highly doubt that—" Odysseus started, but was then rudely cut off by the other warrior.
"Damn it, Odysseus! The love of my life is in great danger! I want this ship searched now!"
"—that any herbs are left," Odysseus continued silkily, his voice slightly agitated, "but I do believe there are 3 or 4 elixirs left. Please, let me fetch them for you." With that, Odysseus turned, shaking his head sadly at Achilles' weak apology.
"I understand, my friend, but you must calm yourself. Worrying excessively won't help Paris at all. Understand, Achilles; I care for Paris as well, and I will do all I can to help him." The truth was, Odysseus was frightened for Paris as well; he just didn't show it as readily. He thanked the Gods that there were some healing elixirs left, and quickly went to search for them.
Achilles turned back to Paris, and finished removing his nightshirt. The young man's body was hot to the touch and sweat gathered on the long graceful limbs. Achilles reached for the basin of cool water he had filled up earlier that morning, and then grabbed a nearby sponge. Gently Achilles bathed Paris, hoping to ease his lover's fever.
At first he hesitated, but then Achilles carefully lifted the long, shapely legs until they were over his shoulders. He tenderly inspected Paris' opening, and was startled to see the skin was bright red. Paris did indeed have an infection, as he had not healed properly. Another, now familiar twinge of fear twisted Achilles' stomach.
Paris moaned softly, and then the chocolate brown eyes opened. He let out a strangled cry, and then ripped his legs away from Achilles, before choking back a sob. His eyes were wide and cornered, like an animal before being killed by a hunter. The warrior could have slapped himself at his stupidity.
"Paris...please forgive me...I was only checking to see if you had healed," Achilles whispered, feeling extremely guilty for the fright he had caused.
Paris seemed incoherent. He squinted his eyes, trying to see Achilles, but then let out a ragged breath. He lay back down, and closed his eyes once more.
Thankfully, Odysseus entered at that moment. He was carrying a bottle made of blue glass, and Achilles could see a thick liquid inside of it. He sighed in relief.
Odysseus sat down beside Achilles and regarded Paris with worried eyes. "How is he?"
Achilles sighed sadly. "I checked his entrance, and it's extremely inflamed. He has a bad infection, and the best way to treat it would be for me to apply the elixir directly to the wound. Odysseus, he isn't coherent. He has no idea what is going on whenever he wakes up. If I apply the ointment and he wakes up, he....he may think I'm raping him."
An odd silence descended in the air. Both warriors knew that Paris was in emotional turmoil from the rape, and he would never heal completely.
Achilles broke the silence by gently taking the bottle from Odysseus. "Yet if I don't do something, things will get worse...would you leave us? If he does think I'm hurting him, he will be upset if you are near," Achilles whispered.
Odysseus nodded and left.
Achilles looked toward his feverish lover and braced himself for the task ahead of him. He stood and walked over to his lover, whispering soothingly. Whether Paris heard him or not he didn't know.
The blonde sat down between Paris' legs, and very slowly parted them. Paris let out a tiny whimper of confusion, and tried weakly to pull his legs away, but failed. Achilles gritted his teeth and gently lifted the long limbs to his shoulders.
Paris still had his eyes closed, and Achilles uncorked the blue bottle, immediately smelling aromatic herbs. He dipped a finger in and brought it out slowly, making sure he had enough of the substance on as a lubricant.
With shaking hands, Achilles lifted Paris' curved hips and tried to get a better look at what he was dealing with. Unknown to him, he pressed on a sore bruise from the fateful night around the hips and Paris let out a small moan. Still, the brown eyes did not open.
"I'm sorry, Paris," Achilles whispered so softly it was barely audible. His stomach felt terrible and fear ate at his insides. He was terrified he would hurt Paris, but he knew he couldn't dwell on it. Furrowing his brows, he slowly pushed his finger into Paris' abused opening.
Achilles heart broke at the soft wail Paris let out, and when the brown eyes open they were fogged and pained. "No, please, not again...." Paris pleaded to Achilles, narrowing his eyes. He was trying to see Achilles but failed, as his vision was fogged. All he felt was an agonizing pain in his lower body, and he knew it was happening again.
Achilles choked back a sob. "Forgive me, Paris. I have to help you, or you will die," the man said, hurt and sorrow in his voice. He poured more healing elixir onto his fingers and pushed a second one into the opening. Paris moaned loudly and tried to wrench his body away again, but couldn't succeed.
"Please...leave me be, don't hurt me..." Paris said, and his voice was so pained and pleading that Achilles began to shake. Tears left Paris' brown eyes and fell down his flushed cheeks, and the constant, murmured pleading didn't stop. The man's breathing was hard and panicked.
Achilles felt his own hot tears trickle down his face, and he didn't try to stop them. He had never felt this helpless. To his utter shock and self loathing, he felt the sparks of arousal wash through his body, and to his horror and guilt he grew hard. Paris' helplessness and moans were too much; it looked like Paris was surrendering to him when they made love. The way his long legs were spread before him appearing wanton awoke almost feral feelings of desire inside the warrior. Terrible shame overtook his mind and he wept softly. He couldn't control how his body reacted and it made him feel even more useless. He desperately wanted to help his lover, and he knew he had to finish what he started. He gritted his teeth and went on, forgetting his aching arousal. He would not subject Paris to this pain again.
"I-I will never h-hurt you, Paris. I only w-want to help you," he whispered once more, and his voice was unsteady. He knelt and successfully hid that he was aroused, not wanting to make Paris panic even more. He carefully pushed in a third finger, and Paris yelled so heart wrenchingly that Achilles sobbed openly. He lifted Paris' hips and wet his fingers with more of the elixir, making sure the inside of his lover's passage was coated thickly.
Paris sobbed brokenly, and flinched at every move Achilles made. "Please...no more...." He no longer fought, utterly exhausted even from his weak attempts to get away.
Achilles stroked Paris' thigh, hoping to soothe the young man. "Soon, my love. I promise." Tears still fell down his face and he tried to calm himself, but the sight of Paris' tear streaked face and the sound of his begging tore at his very soul. Paris sounded defeated and Achilles hated himself for causing his lover this much anguish. Thankfully, Achilles' arousal had faded, and he could finish his work without being distracted.
Finally, Achilles dripped the rest of the fragrant substance down Paris' passage, making sure it went into his body. He gently laid down Paris' long legs, trying not to start sobbing at Paris' terrified whimpers. Achilles crawled up to Paris face, feeling rejected when Paris scooted away from him.
"Forgive me, Paris. I had to do it. I could not just sit by and see you in such agony," Achilles said earnestly, trying to soothe his lover once more. Paris cocked his head, his brow furrowed. He looked like he didn't know what Achilles was saying. His face was still tear streaked and anxious.
Achilles laid a hand on Paris' shoulder, and was pleased when the man didn't jerk away. Paris didn't seem to be focused on anything in particular. Achilles put slight pressure onto the elegant, sloping shoulders until Paris was flat on the floor. The brown eyes closed almost immediately.
Achilles let out a relieved sigh and sat crossed legged near his lover. After a few moments of silence he felt his eyes fill up with unwanted tears. He buried his face in his strong hands and wept silently, his shoulders heaving. His attempts to be silent failed, and soon the small room was filled with the sounds of his soft sobs.
Terrible feelings overwhelmed him; guilt, worry, misery, shame.
That was how Odysseus found him.
"Oh, my friend," the elder man said sadly. He went over to Achilles and knelt behind him, and carefully wrapped his arms around the trembling man. Achilles did not pull away but instead cried harder, gasping between sobs, "I didn't w-want to hurt him, Odysseus. H-he though I was r-raping him...."
Odysseus tightened his hold. "I know you didn't, Achilles. He wasn't alert; he didn't know what was happening. He loves you." Odysseus had been speechless for some moments, holding a fierce warrior who was hurting and sobbing in agony. But the other warrior didn't know the true guilt that was killing Achilles inside.
Odysseus angrily questioned the Gods why they would do this. Why would they put two human beings in such anguish? Not receiving an answer, Odysseus held Achilles until the man was so tired that he fell asleep in Odysseus' arms.
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