Celebwen Telcontar: Okay, here's the new one. Someone wanted something with Achilles, and another wanted a Hector vignette. Here they are.

Balrog: Okay. Well, do you need me here, or can I go back to the forge where

Alanna's lightning is waiting to be repaired?

Celebwen Telcontar: Alanna? The Lioness? This is Troy, not Tamora Pierce!

Balrog: Uhhh… Sorry.


She was beautiful. With her dark brown hair and honey-brown eyes, she looked like an angel. But he couldn't focus on her beauty now. She was tied up and needed to be released. "What's your name?" he asked. She didn't answer him. "Surely even the priests of Apollo have names!" he said. Her silence was beginning to try his nerves.

"You killed Apollo's priests!"

"I kill many in five countries. But never a priest." He removed his armor, rinsed off the sweat and blood from his face, and tied a cloth about his waist. He grabbed a knife and cut her bonds.

"Briseis," she whispered.

Admiral Shepherd awoke to a woman shifting beside him, the other woman moaning in her sleep and cuddling closer to him. Neither woman were of the same amazing beauty of the woman in his dreams. Who was she? Her name was Briseis, but that was all he knew, beside the fact that she looked like a Tolkien elf in her grace and beauty. Like Arwen Undómiel, or Lúthien Tinúviel. Such beauty was unattainable lest one be an immortal like the Elves or like angels. He decided to think of the mysterious beauty in the morning, when his head didn't hurt so much from a hangover and physical exertion, and fell back into a sleep.

The buildings were all engulfed in flames, the fire licking every one of them like the tongues of a demented lover. He sprinted through the streets, screaming: "Briseis, Briseis!" and finally stumbled to a halt by the palace shrine. There she was. The most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Now that he saw her closer, his subconscious mind saw that she was even more beautiful now than she had been before, if that was possible. Her robe was unblemished white and cerulean, her ivory skin glowed against the seashell necklace he had given her as a token of his love.

He enfolded her in his arms, hers went about his neck.

Suddenly, he felt a searing pain behind his right heel. The pain drove him to his knees. Briseis was screaming, but the roaring in his ears prevented him from understanding what she said.

"You must leave. Troy is burning," he said quietly. An arrow hit his shoulder, followed by three others: two in his chest and one in his stomach. He saw Briseis' cousin, Paris, yank her up and run out of the city with her. Then, everything went a bland shade of grey, and he fell sideways, the grey brightening to a blinding white light.

Admiral Shepherd bolted awake, the two women coming awake with him.

"What is it, Davy dear?" one of them asked. He brushed her off and slipped from bed to have a shower and start the day. He knew the woman with Tinúviel's beauty would stay on his mind for the entire day now, if not longer.

"Tinúviel, Tinúviel!" he muttered, saying one of Aragorn's lines in the Lord of the Rings. He began to sing the Lay of Beren and Lúthien to keep time as he found his Seals uniform and got dressed.


His name was being howled from beyond the walls. His extremities were cold, now that he knew he couldn't survive such a confrontation. He would loose, he was sure of that. He gulped and opened the door.

Achilles was out there, furious and impossible to read. His eyes were like two pieces of blue flame; his hair was wild and as bright as the sunlight. Now was the time for the battle to begin. He felt the sword crash against the Greek's, and the shock reverberated up his arm. A blow fell to his shield, smiting it in half. He blocked with his sword, terror making his movements blocky and clumsy. He tried again, and his arm went numb with the shock of the hero's strength. His eyes were dead and unreadable; cold and heartless. They told him everything he needed to know about this confrontation. He would not survive this. He couldn't.

Suddenly, his terror, his fear, his pain in his arm, it was all moved to the backseat of his mind as something, probably Achilles' sword, was thrust through his chest. Fire blossomed from the wound, and he needed to get the intrusive material out of his chest. Then, it was out, but he was growing cold. He fell to the ground, and all went grey then white.

He stood outside of his now dead body as Achilles lashed his ankles to the chariot and drove off.

Oh, no, he thought absently. In this out-of-body state, he couldn't think coherently, nor could he feel anything. He knew that he would be stuck here forever. In this limbo land as a ghost.

Darkness fell, but he could care less. He couldn't even move his spirit, and it felt strange. When he tried to walk, he sank right through the sand. He tried to imagine floating, but nothing happened. Then there was a gust of wind, and he felt like his spirit was going to fly to the ends of time. He cried out, and flailed with his limbs, or at least thought he did. He couldn't feel anything.

Oh, no! No, no, no! he tried to say. Nothing happened. He saw his father leaving the city. No, Father, don't! He'll kill you! he struggled to scream. He tried to follow his father, but the wind had other ideas. The last thing he saw was his father talking with Achilles. Then, he passed beyond the walls of Troy, and into the city proper.

He saw Astyanax and Andromache, weeping silently. Then, he saw Helen, looking distraught, and Paris as if someone had hit him in the back of his head with a board. The city was weeping, all for him.

Finally, he saw his father and Briseis come back, his cousin wearing a new shell necklace and having a vacant look in her eyes. A time later, he saw smoke rising. Warmth enveloped his spirit, and spread outward. Then, he was on the banks of a river, two coins in his hands. He handed them to Charon, and the boatman ferried him across the river, where he met up with the boy he killed.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I thought you were Achilles."

"I'm his cousin, Patroclus. I forgive you. It was a stupid thing to do. I'm sorry I got you down here too."

Henry bolted awake, and stared at the far wall. What a dream! What a weird dream! He saw that there was nothing for it but to leave it alone, and grabbed for his flannel button down shirt, comfortable jeans, boots, and hat, then see the new horse someone wanted him to "fix". There was nothing wrong with any of the horses he worked with, but he fixed the human's attitudes more than the horses.

"Henry Ilias. Horse Whisperer. God. My life should be made into a Robert Redford movie," he grumbled as he headed for the shower.


Celebwen Telcontar: Well, how was that?

Balrog: What a weird thing to happen to his spirit.

Celebwen Telcontar: I got the idea from "Journey of the Watcher" by Rosalinde. It's in the Earth's Children section.

Balrog: Oh. I see. Well, don't let me stop you from updating. And why make Achilles a Tolkien fan?

Celebwen Telcontar: Well, I'm one, and I wanted at least one character to have that same obsession as I do. Hey, I know all of Tolkien's songs by heart, and I can recite the first chapter of the Hobbit from memory!

Balrog: By Illuvitar! I'm going to bed. Alright you lazy louts! It's time you reviewed!

Celebwen Telcontar: Balrog! Stop that! It's frightening the guests. But anyways, please review. I'll see you later.