-

-

Several men surrounded them. She had warned Paris that sneaking of to the festival was a bad idea, but the imp had to have his way, and as a result they found themselves lost and cornered by a group of leering drunks. One man brought his face so close to hers that she could smell a foul odor coming from him, undoubtedly a result of imbibing too much wine.

He barred his yellow teeth and reached for her, his large hands grabbing at her breasts.

"Aw, come on love," he whined when she slapped his hands away. "Don' be so selfish! Gimme a lil' of what you've got and we can all go home and be happy!"

"I'm afraid she's not for sale," Paris said, blocking her from the offender. "But if you wish to bed a whore, you can go to town and find plenty willing to stomach a night with you!"

"Fresh words from cowering mutt," the man sneered and his fist shot out and struck Paris on the cheek. Paris went down like a wilting flower and the men laughed at the fallen youth. She gasped and made a move to help her cousin…only to be prevented by another man who imprisoned her from behind with both arms.

"You're better off without him, girl," her captor said, his breath tickling her ear. "Why stand by a weakling when you can have a man such as I?" His companions laughed when she tried to kick and claw herself free.

"Let go of me!" she cried, but their laughter increased tenfold. Paris lay unconscious on the ground, his face buried in the dirt; unable to hear her struggles and shouts. "You will regret this!" she finally said, and the arms around her tightened in response.

"Oh really? And what's to prevent me from taking you right here?" the man holding her asked mockingly, and she winced when he stooped to lick the base of her neck with his smelly tongue.

Briseis awoke in a cold sweat, her back damp with perspiration. She sighed when she realized that it had been but a dream, and that the scoundrels were nowhere to be found. That event had been a dark chapter in her life- and in Paris' life as well; it was a good thing Hector found them just in time to prevent the worst from happening. The man had pushed her to the ground beside Paris, she recalled vividly…and was about to lift her gown when Hector and a band of Trojan soldiers came to their rescue. She was only fourteen years of age back then, and it was the last time she ever accompanied Paris during his nightly jaunts.

Her momentary relief ended when she suddenly remembered what transpired the previous evening. The Greeks were thorough in their invasion, so much that they captured the Trojan beach in the course of an afternoon. Apollo's temple was sacked and she was brought to Agamemnon's tent to be paraded like a horse at an auction block. Just when things couldn't get any worse, he had arrived. Achilles had approached her without warning, freed her from the Atreidei and claimed her as his own. When the congregation was over, he had taken her from the high king's tent and led her into his abode. She had been so exhausted from the ordeal that she practically sank into the white fleece he deposited her in, falling asleep before fully comprehending this strange twist of fate.

She looked around the dimly lit interior and saw that the famed warlord was absent. Rugs covered the powdery white sand of his makeshift home, and scattered here and there were items the Myrmidon had supposedly acquired from their first plunder. Gold and silver chalices were stacked into piles; woven tapestries of various colors were draped on boxes and wooden stools…and on a small table to her right, a large black amphora was filled to the brim with grape wine.

The tent was hardly a setting for royalty, but one glance at the treasure within was enough to give a clue as to the wealth of its owner.

Without warning, the flaps covering the tent's entrance were jostled and Achilles entered the enclosure, making her jump in surprise. So light footed was he that she had not even heard him coming. Briseis stared at him, open-mouthed. His armor was tainted in blood, his hair was rumpled and his face was smudged with dirt and grime…all telling results, no doubt, of being involved in the latest raid.

He smiled at her and dropped his sword on the nearest animal skin. "Did you sleep well?" he asked, then gestured to the dark jar on a table beside her. "I see you haven't touched your wine - would you rather have something else? There's a bit of leftover meat from the feast last evening."

Briseis continued to stare at him in silence and Achilles raised an eyebrow, guessing that she was probably horrified from his unkempt appearance. Deciding that she had suffered enough trauma to last a lifetime, he went about making himself more presentable. Sitting on a stool, he stripped of his bronze greaves and began to unbuckle the leather straps that held his cuirass together. He was about to remove the tunic at his waist when she gasped. He looked up and beheld her frowning at him in indignation, her cheeks burning with embarrassment.

Achilles suppressed the urge to laugh. Of course, he hadn't been in the presence of a lady for so long that he had forgotten how sheltered women of the court were. This one, being especially young, had probably never laid eyes on a naked man's chest. "My apologies, but you'll have to look away for the moment," he said, chuckling. When she did, he removed his tunic and wrapped a thigh length loin guard around his waist. Normally, for another woman, he wouldn't have bothered with the show of decency but he had already established that this girl was different.

"My lord?" a voice called from the outside.

"You may enter," he ordered, and four serving women came in, each pair carrying a large bucket of steaming water. When they left, he grabbed a wet sponge and began to clean himself, once in awhile throwing curious glances in his captive's direction. She was now faced towards the opposite side of the quarter, possibly devising a means of escape.

"You're safer here than out there, believe me," he said.

Once thoroughly clean, he made a quiet approach, and Briseis winced when the fleece-lined bed sank from his added weight. Sitting beside her, he reached out to touch a strand of her hair. "What's your name?"

She refused to answer, and he prodded, "Even the servants of Apollo have names."

"You killed Apollo's priests," she finally said, still staring straight ahead, determined to remain aloof.

"I kill men who defend their countries…I don't kill priests."

"Then your men did…the sun god will have his vengeance!" Briseis babbled, not caring if her words would cause offense. Common sense deserted her, and she momentarily forgot the frightening tales soldiers told of him. He and his Myrmidon were the cause of all her troubles. If her accusations angered him, he more than deserved it!

"Well, where is he?" Achilles asked, amused but more than a little disturbed. He couldn't be bothered with what others thought of him, but her agitation affected more than he cared to admit.

"Waiting for the right time to strike!"

"His priests are dead and his acolytes are captive…I think your god is afraid of me."

"Afraid!" She turned to look at him this time, shocked to the core by his blasphemy. Did he not fear Apollo's wrath? "Apollo is master of the sun…he fears nothing."

"Then where is he?"

"You wouldn't know anything about the gods! Have you no shame? Your army killed several unarmed priests yesterday…they did not deserve to be slain in such a manner... they were men of peace."

He said nothing for a long minute, and when he lifted his other hand she averted her face, thinking he meant to strike her. To her amazement, he merely nodded, and rested his hand on her shoulder. "You're right…like most soldiers, my men are often too caught up in battle rage to make the distinction between their opponents. I myself never condoned the practice of slaying the helpless, yet I never spoke against it. Perhaps I'll have a word with them on the matter during our next meet."

"Are… are you saying that you agree with me?" Briseis asked, wondering if he was serious or merely pretending so as to gain her cooperation.

Achilles smiled and their eyes met. His expression softened and he stood up. "Why, yes. Is it so hard to believe that I'd be willing to remedy an injustice? I'm glad you mentioned it, in fact." He pointed to the remaining bucket of water across the tent. "That one's for your personal use. Lovely as you are, you need a proper bath. I can't have you walking around smelling like trout now, can I?"

He donned a black tunic and exited the tent, leaving her in privacy to bathe.

-

-

Briseis watched the warlord take his leave. She hadn't expected him to agree with her so easily. If anything, she expected an outburst of anger on his end, and a quick demise on hers. Moreover, he wasn't at all what she thought he would be. She tried to recall what the local Trojan gossips said of him.

Achilles is a monster. A madman who would throw his spear at Zeus himself if the god so angered him.

Achilles is a savage, a warrior so skilled in battle that the mere mention of his name sends hundreds scurrying for their lives.

Achilles is a warmonger. A man who would kill another for the slightest insult to his honor.

Some stories, she was forced to admit, were a bit exaggerated.

The beast is so in love with the art of war that he decorates his palace with the skins of those he has slain.

The brute is so heartless that he won't bother to make the distinction between man and woman, adult and child, opponent and innocent victim. To him, all are ripe for the killing.

And the worst, personal favorite of those who feared him:

He decapitates his hardiest opponents, collects their heads as trophies…and even drinks their blood to make him stronger.

When Achilles first entered the tent, he had looked downright dangerous, his mane-like hair tousled as a lion's, his eyes intense, and his muscular, athletic form covered with blood. Their conversation went a long way in humanizing him and yet, she mused, nothing could remove the aura of invincibility that surrounded him. The gossips were right to proclaim him godlike. Achilles looked very much like a human Apollo. His hair was golden as the sun, his eyes blue as the morning sky and his body bronzed from the many summers he spent outdoors…most likely battling up a storm.

How a gifted killer could be endowed with a physique more suited to an immortal was beyond her, but then again appearances could be deceiving. The handsomest face could hide the blackest of hearts and the brightest smile could be but a cover for maliciousness.

But why exert such an effort just to gain her favor? Briseis had to admit that in as much as she wanted to believe in his supposed deception, the idea of Achilles trying so hard to appear friendly to her—his prisoner, ugly as it sounded— was illogical and nothing short of ridiculous. Hector had said that he was a man who did 'damn well as he pleased', so why in heaven's name would he even stoop so low as to pretend for her sake? If rumor was to be believed, he was more likely to be shockingly blunt and enjoy doing so, than deceiving so as to gain someone else's approval. If anything, he was probably used to people catering to him, not the other way around. No, she mentally concluded. Achilles could be many things, but a liar was not one of them.

Not liking the direction her thoughts were taking, she eyed the bucket of water across the tent. It would be traitorous of her to freely accept him, but what good would it do to stubbornly refuse a bath so graciously offered? Briseis scooted towards the pail of steaming water. She picked up a soft cloth, wet it, and began to scrub herself thoroughly, practically disrobing in the process. When she was almost done, she discovered bottles of oil and perfume laid out on a stool for her use. She refused to open them; for fear that anointing herself with the sweet smelling fluids would entice Achilles into taking her as soon as he got a whiff. Not that staying odorless would prevent the inevitable, an ominous voice inside her said.

At that instant, Achilles abruptly reentered the tent.

Briseis gasped out loud. With her priestly robes gathered at her feet, she stood before him, naked as a child on its day of birth. She covered her breasts with her hands, feeling her cheeks turn red, and her eyes tear in humiliation. Never had she been so exposed to a man before. That he, of all men, should behold her in such a vulnerable state! With shaking hands, she gathered her soiled robes and made a clumsy attempt at decency. The endeavor lasted longer than it should have, with the gown slipping from her fingers at least twice.

Achilles took one good look at her and said nothing. His eyes darkened and he clenched his teeth; with her dark, curly hair flowing over a body that could've been sculpted in porcelain, she resembled a woodland goddess from tales of old. Her breasts were full, and the nipples at their peaks were as rosy as her cheeks and lips. Her waist was trim and her thighs shapely; no amount of covering on her part could conceal her true form…even the maidenly curves of her neck and arms were alluring.

She was absolutely beautiful to him and it was a considerable struggle on his part not to take her then and there. He walked forward and she took a backward step, shaking her head in panic, her eyes pleading with him.

"It's alright," Achilles soothed. He held out his hand, and she saw that he was holding a simple, brown garment. "I obtained this outside for you to wear. It's not much, but you were not in my plans when I joined this war."

Briseis sighed with relief and took the robe from him, gratefully clothing herself with it. It was a plain makeshift tunic, made from the simplest of fabrics and embroidered in brown threads. It reminded her of what the servants in Ilium wore, but she didn't mind, vastly preferring it to her gown, which was now torn up.

Achilles regretfully watched his priestess conceal her body from him. "That dress does not do you justice, I'm afraid. I'll have to give you something better next time," he said, his face carefully expressionless. "Something far more valuable."

"It…it's not necessary," she said tightly, clutching her old robe to her chest, her eyes downcast.

"It's very necessary," he replied, and turned to leave once more. "I'll be attending to other pressing matters and won't be back for a couple of hours. In the meantime, make yourself comfortable. I'll have a platter of food brought to you shortly."

"…Oh, and one more thing, girl," he said over his shoulder. "You needn't fear me. You're the only Trojan who can say that."

The young king departed, and the Trojan princess sank onto a nearby stool. She did not like surprises; men often met their doom while they were caught unawares. Yet Achilles had promised her safety, and she had already convinced herself that lying was beneath him. With each passing second, he became more of a mystery to her, his every word, gesture and action causing confusion in their unpredictability.

Unbeknownst to Briseis, the warrior was already beginning to feel the same way about her— a girl whose name he did not know— but whose very presence unsettled him in a manner no one would have thought possible.

-

-

"You're raiding Skyros tomorrow, aren't you?"

Achilles sighed and closed his eyes. Somehow, he could never get used to his cousin's nagging. He found Patroclus sitting on a log before a row of tents, absently cracking his knuckles. The boy wore a scowl on his face and Achilles winced at the sight, sure that another troublesome argument was well on its way.

"Not tomorrow…in a week or two, once the men have settled."

"Remind me again why I can't join the raiding," Patroclus demanded, rising from his low position. "From what I was told, the kingdom of Skyros have ill trained soldiers and a pitiful fortress. They're sure to be afraid of you as soon as we set foot on their land, and with that fear to our advantage, I doubt I'd be in much danger if I came along."

"Military competence is hardly the issue," Achilles replied. "They may call for help from other neighboring towns and while I am confident we can handle anything they throw at us, we would still have a long fight on our hands. I would rather you stayed here for the moment."

"Then why in Zeus' name did you bring me along if I'm not allowed to fight like a man!" The boy's voice rose a notch. "I feel as useless as a broken spear and the others are surely laughing at me behind my back for having to stay and keep house."

"Patroclus, we've been through this before." Achilles rubbed the aching muscles at the back of his neck. "I've already told you that only a fully trained Myrmidon may participate in actual combat, and I won't send you out there unprepared." He placed a comforting hand on his cousin's arm. "Even I had to complete my apprenticeship under Chiron before I could enter my first war…and when that happened I still had to play squire for the other, more experienced soldiers before being permitted to join." He sat on a log and bade his cousin do the same.

"Glory isn't solely about participation. You may think that becoming a Myrmidon automatically bestows honor to a man, but believe me when I say that the journey he takes before earning that status counts just as much."

"…So train hard. Very few are given this opportunity. In a year or two you'll be finished and there'll be nothing more I can teach you." He hugged the boy tightly. "Surely that's not too long a wait, is it?"

Patroclus sighed, knowing he had lost this altercation. Achilles would not budge and as such, it would be wise not to press him further. "Granted, I haven't finished my training…but I hate feeling inept. Why, just yesterday, Thersites asked if I needed help ladling the stew onto my plate. I recognize sarcasm when I see it."

"He said that! " Anger darkened Achilles' features, and a muscle twitched dangerously in his jaw. He began to rise, only to be barred by Patroclus' flailing arm.

"DON'T, PLEASE!" Patroclus shouted, his lips quivering in mortification. "If you confront him now, it will only prove he's right and that I'm incapable of handling anything."

Abashed, the warlord sat down. "I apologize, but the dog can aggravate more than you know of. Even Odysseus lost his temper with him once, and struck him soundly on the head after speaking disrespectfully at an assembly of kings."

"I can't imagine Lord Odysseus doing such a thing."

"Well, he did— and I don't blame him. Thersites is a leech, a wine bibber, who tends to run off the mouth without thinking…and he's a coward to boot. He plays dice with Palamedes all day and has the gall to call you useless? Why, Patroclus, I'd bet my life that you've lifted a sword far more times than he has."

The boy's frown slowly transformed into a smile and he laughed, uplifted by the notion that he possessed more courage than the old troublemaker who no one could seem to endure.

Achilles grinned, glad to finally be able to get through to his young charge. "That was not an exaggeration. Everyone knows how the man would rather laze around than help his comrades…and with that reputation, why should you care what he thinks? His mind is skewed and his judgment irrational. Think no more of his insults. If they bother you so much, then you can call him out with my blessing. I have no doubt you'll make short work of him!"

With the gloomy mood now past him, Patroclus agreed with his mentor's reliable plan and together, they went off for another sparring session.

-

-

She would not have thought it possible, but the man grew more complicated by the moment. Briseis had witnessed the scene in the confines of the warlord's tent and it eerily reminded her of one between Hector and Paris. Except for the fact that Paris had no wish to fight as the young boy did. But Achilles…his surprising protectiveness, not to mention his gentle, yet sound reasoning were unbelievable to her. He was making a very strange first impression- one she was both placated and uncomfortable with. Achilles was not supposed to behave this way! Didn't the local town gossips say…

The tent flaps opened once more and she stilled herself, anticipating a second entrance from him.

Instead, a bearded man of medium height made his way through the small dwelling, holding a platter of delicacies in one hand and a bronze sword in the other.

Eudorus carefully placed the platter of food in front of her. "Your midday meal, milady. Lord Achilles bade me deliver this to you…and requests that you try the salted meat before latching onto the fruit."

Startled by the respectful manner in which she was addressed, Briseis studied the burly soldier with uncertainty. This would have to be Achilles' right hand man…his amiability was a perfect match for his master's, but was it a trick to gain her cooperation? The smell of fresh meat made her lose her train of thought. Her stomach rumbled, and she suspiciously peered at the scrumptious feast. Strips of salted pork were scattered at the center of the gold-rimmed plate, and generous helpings of nuts, grapes and apples served as side dishes to the main course.

Were they poisoned, or laced with some secret drug, which would render her unconscious and vulnerable to a man's lusts?

Eudorus sighed and bent down. Achilles had guessed that the priestess would be wary of taking food from those she considered her enemies and— in the event that she hesitated— had left instructions with him to taste the food for her benefit. Taking a small portion of each item, he stuffed them into his mouth and, once the task was over, wiped his beard with the back of his hand. "As were his orders my lady…for your peace of mind…"

"I thank you" Briseis said lamely, torn between gratefulness and embarrassment. The food tasting was exactly what she needed; yet she felt foolish for worrying so much. She reached for a strip of meat and the soldier nodded, satisfied that he could now leave and join the rest of the Myrmidons in their sparring session. He was about to walk out when an idea occurred to him…and he turned to address the girl his king seemed to want so desperately. She was now eating as quickly as possible, smacking her lips in pleasure and licking her dainty fingers with relish.

"He isn't the monster you take him for," he started and she paused at this unusual remark, her teeth sinking into a slice of red apple.

"Wh…what?" she mumbled, swallowing the last portion of fruit. The Myrmidon was staring at her intently, as if the firmness of his expression could make her understand an essential truth.

"Lord Achilles is one of the best men I know…and I consider myself fortunate to serve him."

Lips parted in mild surprise, Briseis looked at him for a scant second before directing her gaze towards her unfinished meal. She either would not or could not react to this statement however, and her stubborn silence prompted a greater show of fidelity from him.

"He has his faults but every man does. Furthermore, he fights his own battles- a feat many kings fall short off."

"It…it is precisely his fighting that has me concerned," she said carefully, clamping her hands together as was her habit when nervous. "Your master killed plenty of my countrymen…and many men for that matter. It would be difficult—no, impossible—for me to come to terms with that."

"My master bore the Trojans no ill will, he said so himself on many an occasion," Eudorus protested. "He would have left your kingdom alone had it not been for the unforgivable slight to one of our neighbors… nonetheless, a man's courage in battle should determine his merit; there is no crime in slaying an enemy when it is a soldier's duty to do so."

"And when that enemy is unarmed and defenseless?" Her tone carried a hint of bitterness as she recalled the sacking of the temple.

"It is interesting that you should mention that, as Lord Achilles instructed us just now to focus our efforts on armed men."

This unexpected reply sent Briseis into a state of speechlessness. That the warlord had taken her earlier accusations seriously was confounding. She assumed that Achilles' agreements were honest but condescending and unreliable. The realization that he had considered her words—and that she was once again mistaken in her assessment of him, was a revelation. Her failure to come up with a suitable retort convinced her verbal opponent of his success, and Eudorus decided that it was time for him to leave. Making a beeline for the tent's opening with a smile of triumph etched on his face, he threw his parting shot. "You might also want to remember that, if Lord Achilles were truly unreasonable, he would never have taken the advice of a priestess to heart."

He saw her unwillingness to challenge this bit of logic as a good sign.

-

-

Achilles arrived late in the evening from a grueling day of overseeing the camp. He found his captive sitting on a corner of the bed, and on close inspection he realized that she was struggling to keep awake. His lips twitched in amusement. "I'm sorry I took so long, but I had to make sure our ship's provisions were properly loaded and that the army was supplied. You were waiting for me, I hope?"

Not knowing the proper answer, Briseis refused to rise to his bait. Maintaining an appearance of dignity and aloof pride required all her faculties, yet the effect was ruined by her constant yawning and sleep ridden countenance. She watched him lay his sword and armor down to begin his bathing ritual. "Do you want to assist me in this?" he asked teasingly, waving a washcloth in her direction.

"Um…," she faltered, trying to decide if refusing the offer was feasible and he laughed, enjoying himself greatly. "It's alright. I was just jesting…I have no intentions of dirtying you up. Wait patiently and I'll join you in awhile."

Briseis gulped. Of course, they would have to share a bed! So absorbed was she in her newly found discoveries of him that she failed to pay heed to the current sleeping arrangement. But he promised not to do anything, so there was no cause for worry, was there? She decided to avoid the uncomfortable situation by sleeping ahead, so as not to be disturbed.

Achilles watched her lie down facing the other side of the enclosure, squeezing her body into the smallest available space. He saw through her ploy though, and chuckled softly as he rinsed himself with water. It was only natural that the girl would be uncomfortable, but it suddenly became imperative that she learn a valuable lesson…that he never took a woman by force, no matter what the provocation.

Once his washing was done, Achilles stood over the bed, studying her. Her eyes were closed tightly, but he could tell from her rapid breathing that she was awake and fully conscious of his presence. He lifted a lock of hair from her cheek and brushed it aside, sensing her light flinch at the unbidden contact. He lay beside her then, and gave her a few minutes to adjust to the feeling of his added weight on the bed. Finally, when that was over, he wrapped his arms around her and drew her close, tucking her head underneath his chin.

Briseis gasped at the sensation of a large body behind her, and when strong arms wrapped themselves around her breasts and waist, her first instinct was to twist free from the heated embrace. It was a useless struggle, as his arms only tightened in reaction. He said nothing when she gave up, but he raised his hand and began to stroke her stomach in a soothing motion.

"I won't be preoccupied with anything tomorrow, and I suspect we'll be spending the rest of the day together." There was a smile in his voice as he spoke. "You can go visit the river for a spell…that's where they'll be taking the female captives."

With his breath tickling her ear, she found it hard to concentrate on what he was saying. "Wh…what will they be doing there?"

"Some of the men send their women to do the washing, provided they are watched by a well armed guard. I don't regard you as a servant, nor do I plan on heaping any tasks on you, but a visit to the site sounds like a pleasant way to spend the morning…who knows? You may find a friend there."

"…And we can find a way to amuse ourselves later. I can give you a tour of the camp after addressing my men. Whatever the case, I think it best that the entire army recognize you as my consort. It will prevent unruly soldiers from attacking when you have the inclination to go out for a breath of fresh air."

She mumbled something inaudible at that, and Achilles leaned over her, tipping her chin up to meet his gaze. "What did you say?" he asked.

"Briseis…my name is Briseis," she said, looking up at him with her large brown eyes.

"Briseis," he repeated, glad that she eventually chose to share her name with him. "That's a beautiful name. Sleep well, Briseis…you've an exhausting day ahead of you."

Lulled by his caressing hands and the calming beat of his heart at her back, it was hard not to do as he requested. In less than half an hour, she was fast asleep in his arms.

-

(to be continued…)

-

-

Author's note: My humble apologies for this late chapter! I've been job hunting as of late, and I suffered a huge writer's block after writing the first half. Rest assured, I will finish this fanfic…I already have an outline- a general idea where all this is headed, so no need to worry about my abandoning this story. Completing Please, Achilles, Please will take awhile though, so please bear with me.

To the reviewer named "Christine"- as you can see, my scenes don't follow the plot of the movie anymore. This fic is based on the movie, but there will definitely be a lot of changes and a couple of elements from the book thrown in.

Another thing. I've posted my latest Troy fan art at www(dot)deviantart(dot)com(slash)view(slash)14620622

Extra Notes:

Atreidei: Referring to Agamemnon and Menelaus, men of the house of Atreus.

Amphora/Amphorae: A two-handled jar with a narrow neck used by the ancient Greeks and Romans to carry wine or oil.

Thersites: One of the most dislikeable members of the Greek camp. It is a fact that Odysseus and Achilles lost their tempers with him in the sources.

Palamedes: I forget if he was Agamemnon and Menelaus' cousin. He is related to them anyway.

Wine bibber: One of the insults Achilles (of the Iliad) uses on those he hates.