Celebwen Telcontar: Well, this is new! It's a Troy fic, and it's got the people of the movie having been reincarnated in the present day. None of them are related, and they all have interesting dreams to prove that they are who they are. This has the dreams of two of the more principal characters in this story. Paris and Helen are already married, but nothing came of it for she wasn't already married when Paris met her.

Balrog: Uhhh… Okay. I guess. This is new… I would think you would center on a Briseis/Achilles fic, knowing how you like Achilles' character!

Celebwen Telcontar: Balrog… shut up!

Balrog: Can you pass me the pegmatite crumbles?


She screamed in pain and loss, her fisted knuckles meeting his nose in a spectacular shower of blood. He distinctly heard a wet crunch, and felt agony rip through his face. Then, she hit him again, and he felt his bloody broken mess of a nose give like a fine silk pillow. He screamed in his pain, and saw her pull back for another strike, screaming his faults and her loss and emotional agony as she did so. Her fist caught his unprotected eye, and his head rocked back with the force of the blow; he felt it crack on the wall and a gluey mess of liquid seeped its way down his neck and into his shirt.

"You jerk! You heartless son of a bitch! Damn you, you… you son of a cur! Go and fuck yourself, you son of a son of a bitch!" were some of her obscene remarks; the ones that he could understand through the roaring in his ears, the pain in his face, and her sobs. She struck his clear eye, his cheekbones, then, with a mighty swing, cracked a rib. She gave him a hearty kick between the legs, and he fell to his already bruised and broken face. She ran off, weeping, and slowly blackness overcame his ability to see in the wan torchlight. Then, everything turned a bland shade of grey, and he was standing before a river, a boatman shaking his head in good humor. His cousin's lover was already in the boat, two gold pieces clutched in his fist from his Greek companions.

He sat up in his bed, startling his wife.

"What is it, dearest?" she asked. He felt around his face and ribs for the cracked rib and shattered nose not to mention both black eyes his cousin had so expertly delivered.

"Ouch…" he whimpered slightly. His nose was whole and straight, his eyes were free of bruises, and his head was fine. His ribs felt like they did every morning, and he was fine in any other way. The alarm clock beeped shrilly, and he slapped it off in a bad humor. "Just a dream, Belle," he replied.

"Are you sure, Houston?"

"Positive. If it had been anything else, I'd have a bruised and broken face, a cracked open head, a cracked rib, and a nice bruise to my package."

"I hope that doesn't happen, Houston!" she cried.

"So do I. I apparently killed the lover of a cousin, and paid for it by her beating me to death, literally."

"Oh, dear. Well, it's best not to dwell on the dreams, and you need to get ready to go to Mary's house."

"Oh, great! The class reunion!" He bolted from bed and began to get ready for the day.


"No… Please, don't leave me!" she whispered against his chest. She felt his strong arms around her shoulders, and he held her close, unmindful of the arrows that had driven him to his knees.

"Briseis, we have to go or we'll die here!"

"Achilles…" she gasped. He was sweating with the pain, and his body convulsed against hers.

"Go…" he whispered. He gave her a short, passionate kiss, filled with all the love he felt for her. She kissed him right back, as much as she could, telling him with that kiss that she would never forget him.

Paris took her by the arm and guided her into the tunnel. She never saw her lover's body hit the ground.

When the truth caught up to her, nota halfhour later, she drove her fist into Paris' nose. Her dress was splattered with his blood, but she didn't care. She struck him again, and knew by the soft texture of his nose that it was broken. Paris screamed in pain and she angled the next shot to his eye. She felt a crack when she punched him, and his head swung back with the momentum of her shot. She heard a sickening wet crack, like an unfired clay pot, still slightly moist, shattering on stone. His head left a bloody stain on the wall, and she pulled back and struck his other eye. She didn't know what she was saying, or screaming, rather. All she felt was the immense void where love and caring, warmth and joy should be. Achilles was dead. She could feel it. She punched Paris in the ribs, and felt a rib give and snap. She aimed a quick kick between his knees, and he fell to his face, groaning.

She ran, sobbing, into broad daylight. In front of her were Helen and Andromache, both having their backs to her. She closed her eyes and took a knife from her dress.

"Achilles… My love, I'm coming…" she whispered, driving the knife into her heart.

She woke with a gasp, tears streaking down her cheeks. The empty void was no longer there, as if it had never been. The broken tie had never been made, so it could never be broken. Her right hand, which as she knew should be a bloody and messy piece of meat feeling like someone took a meat tenderizer to it, was clean and painless.

"A dream… oh, God, it was a dream…" she whispered, getting ready to find her dress and drive to church before the clergy arrived and was shocked to find their priest missing.


Celebwen Telcontar: Don't throw things at me!(Ducks and avoids flying tomatoes)

Balrog: If they threw them, you deserved it.

Celebwen Telcontar: Balrog,

Balrog: Yes, Celebwen?

Celebwen Telcontar: Shut the bloody hell up! I'll see you next time, folks. Please review! Or my self esteem dies, and I never post!