A/N: I made an error in the previous chapter when Odysseus referred to his son as "Astyanax" instead of Telemachus. Truth be told, I've been having a bugger of a time keeping those two's names straight: Astyanax is more prominent in this story and it's been a good year and a half since I've read "The Odyssey" so Astyanax is the name that keeps sticking out. I've been catching it until now, and a responsible author would take responsibility for the mistake and promise to do better next time; I will be blaming a fictional baby – shame on you, Astyanax, you stage-hog! :)

It turned out to be a mixed blessing that it was a clear day when the two ships came within view of Troy again. Hector had hoped for the cloaking of clouds or the night to shield them from sight until they had the chance to regroup; but under the current circumstances the clarity worked to their advantage, for because of that everyone on both decks could see an odd situation unfolding on land. Outside of the main gates of the city stood a small force that was armed and ready for battle.

From the deck of the foremost vessel Hector squinted against the sun, trying to get a better idea of just what they would be facing once they reached the beach and beyond. The conclusion he came to was grim: the force seemed to be flocked completely around the city's entrance. There was no path left for even one person to slip through unnoticed, let alone the combined forces of the Trojans, Ithacans, and Myrmidons in their small fleet. This wasn't necessarily an insurmountable problem; there didn't appear to be too many men in the awaiting army and it wasn't essential that Hector or anyone else return to the city itself anyway. They always had the option of turning slightly to land closer to the mountains where the refugees were gathered, pick up Andromache, Astyanax, and anyone else willing to accept permanent exile from the land, and leave again.

No; Hector felt a pit form in his stomach as he pondered that possibility. It was unlikely that they'd gone unnoticed by now, and seeing the already-assembled force led him to believe that his father could – and would – send out troops to meet them. That would only allow them a miniscule amount of time to ready what would probably be many people for a long voyage when the ships and the people onboard had already been sailing for weeks on end and were running low on supplies. It would do them no good to escape from Priam's wrath only to starve to death at sea or land in a port that had any type of loyalty to the vicious snake. Besides, Hector was not yet willing to concede Troy and its people to the current king. In his heart he loved the city and its people; he'd fought for them, watched people that he cared about die for them; and managed to build a family there under horrible circumstances – leaving it all behind without a fight would, in a way, be letting his father win. There was only one thing left to do, then: prepare the men onboard as best as he could to fight and trust that their battle prowess would prevail over the opposition and their own weariness.

"My prince?" questioned his second-in-command, following Hector's gaze. He set his jaw when he saw the swords flashing in the sunlight.

"Toll the signal bell," ordered Hector. "I cannot see any way that we could avoid a confrontation, so unless anyone else has a brilliant plan Achilles and Odysseus need to be ready for whatever may happen when we hit the beach."

The soldier nodded wordlessly and then turned, shouting out the command. The clanging of the bell vibrated through the air almost instantaneously, only to be answered seconds later by an equally ominous toll from the Myrmidon ship. The prompt reply reassured Hector; it was reasonable to assume, then, that the others were already aware of the inevitability of what was at hand and were about to send out a signal of their own.

'Good,' thought Hector determinedly. 'We seem to be of the same mind. At least now everyone will be as ready as they can be when we meet whoever that is.'

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Paris was sitting on the edge of his cot, just finishing slipping on his second sandal, when one loud bell chime shook the walls of the cabin. It was almost immediately followed by a second, this one coming from farther off. He froze in place and took a deep breath, steeling himself for he knew what their purpose had been: the commanders of each ship were communicating with each other. Since they were supposed to be traveling in relative secret and Troy as close at hand, it could only mean that the city was in sight and that trouble had been spotted.

He pushed himself off of the cot and dropped to his hands and knees, crouching as he searched underneath. There was an undeniable mess; the wadded piles of clothing were hindering his ability to find what he was looking for. It was a shame that those piles had been necessary to sneak the object past Hector because it wasn't exactly the type of item that he could just move his hand blindly to find, not if he didn't want to run the risk of grabbing it in the wrong place.

There! Paris' fingers brushed against the cool metal; he closed them around the hilt and pulled his sword out from under a particularly foreboding heap of soiled laundry. He examined the almost-completely un-notched blade with a combination of pride and regret. Hiding his sword had been an unfortunate necessity – it was well-made and strong, and he was so happy to finally have one of his own after years of being told that he was too weak to wield one; but he had a feeling that Hector wouldn't approve of him carrying around such a weapon receiving any formal training. Trying to explain that it was a gift from Achilles, who had been horrified (only half jokingly) that Paris didn't even possess a knife, most likely wouldn't assuage the apprehension that his father would have – he and Hector were getting more comfortable around each other but the elder prince was still having a bit of a hard time accepting that Paris was grown now and didn't need to be coddled quite so much.

He was willing enough to wait patiently for Hector to deal with his guilt and lingering fantasies that he could get back his son in the same infant-form that he forfeited him in during times of tranquility, but now wasn't one of those times. The bell might as well have been an open invitation for Paris to wear his sword openly. He would need to be armed in case of any trouble; and even if there wasn't any he still wanted to return to the land that he fled with some sort of prominent weapon, namely to send a message to the Trojans that Achilles hadn't taken him against his will. He hated the notion of anyone thinking terrible and untrue things about his lover and it was important to him that the world know that he possessed a means of escape and yet had chosen not to.

Resolutely strapping the sword to his side, Paris raced up to the deck. Already the men were rushing around, shouting out orders, encouragements, and questions as they prepared for battle. The boy could see the land before them that he recognized as the shores of Troy, but that alone didn't explain the level of frenzied activity that followed the sounding of the bells. That meant that something unsettling was waiting for them – something that would require a fight that he could assist in.

In the midst of it all, Hector stood at the farthest out railing, leaning forward as much as he dared with the hopes that getting even a little closer would help him get a better idea of what they would be up against. Paris weaved through the crowd as quickly as he could to stand at his side. "What's going on?" the boy demanded, anxious and eager at the same time.

"I cannot say for certain," answered Hector, pointing to the army at the gates. "Look there; we'll be encountered something very soon. At first I thought that they were a force set in place to stop us or anyone else from entering the city, but now I'm not so sure. Father had no way of knowing until about an hour ago that we would be returning today and those soldiers were already there when we came in sight. There was also no guarantee at all that we would be returning, and even less that we would have the Myrmidons and Ithacans with us; keeping so many men in a constant state of readiness for something that may not happen doesn't make much sense. He would be more likely to try to lull us into a false sense of security before springing a trap than give us so much warning. Therefore, if the army isn't there to keep us out –"

"It could very well be trying to get in," Paris finished for him. "Besiegers?"

"Possibly," replied Hector. "In fact, the more I think about it, the more likely it seems."

Paris squinted, using his hand to shade his eyes from the sunlight. "Well, if that's truly their intention they'll need more than a few more soldiers than what they have," he remarked, marveling at the stupid bravado that someone would have to have to attack the city so openly with so few men. Even the bold Achilles and his infamous Myrmidons had possessed enough sense to opt to sneak out instead.

The mysterious force apparently agreed; Paris' eyes widened as the small army suddenly abandoned the city's gates for a more appropriate target. "They're turning around!" he announced urgently. "It looks like they're heading straight for the beach."

Hector cursed silently; even more inconvenient and perilous than an army waiting for them in a strategic position was having to meet one in a direct attack. "Sound the bell again and get ready!" he shouted. "All men on deck! Do what you have to do now, and do it quickly – we're going to have to make a stand on the beach as soon as our feet hit the sand!"

Paris, already on deck and as ready as he would ever be, stayed where he was, his eyes riveted on the unfolding action on land. "The gates of the city are opening," he reported, even more puzzled than before. Opening the gates with an enemy force so close by was foolish, even when that force was retreating. "They're sending the army out after them. Whoever's heading for us was definitely attacking Troy." More mysteries to mull over: why was the army of Troy risking injury by pursuing the besiegers after they had forsaken their attack?

There was no time for anyone to speculate the reasoning employed by either army now; the beach was looming close. "Paris, get below deck," said Hector anxiously.

"To hide among the baggage while my father, lover, and people go into battle?" argued Paris incredulously, his fingers finding their way to the hilt of his sword. "I can fight."

'Where did he get that?' wondered Hector. His thoughts went immediately to the time that he watched in the shadows as Paris stumbled after taking his first steps; he still flinched at the memory and the anguish he felt at not being able to rush to the baby's side to soothe his tears. The skinned knee he'd suffered then would be nothing compared to the injuries he would get now if this was to be his first battle. "No," he told him, almost frantically. "You're going to stay here where it's safe, Paris."

"But Father!" protested Paris. "I can help. Achilles gave me this sword –"

"Paris, please!" Hector's voice was firm but desperate. "It was very – nice – of Achilles to give you that, but having a sword won't make much difference if you haven't been properly trained. I can't lose you again, so please – for my sake if nothing else – stay here and don't argue with me now!" He winced inwardly at how much those words sounded like something that would come out of Priam's mouth; he forced himself that he was doing this to protect Paris and that he wasn't his father.

Paris had more arguments in him but relented at the sight of Hector so panicked. "All right," he mumbled as the ship ran aground.

Hector spared him a small grateful smile and a quick kiss on the brow. "Thank you," he murmured, promising himself that he would somehow see to Paris' training once they got through this day. He poised himself to storm the beach as he raised his voice: "Men! Now is the hour! Foes are upon us, so come forward and fight!"

The elder prince led the charge with his sword drawn and his Trojans following close behind. The Ithacans that they were traveling with lagged only slightly behind as Odysseus' second-in-command waited for his king to emerge from the Myrmidon vessel that hit the land moments after theirs did. Odysseus soon overtook them, seizing the direct leadership of his men once again and falling into step next to Hector. The Myrmidons joined the scattered, mixed ranks; and the three armies formed into one as Achilles took his place alongside the two other leaders.

Despite the impending danger Odysseus managed to grin at the prince as they ran. "It's good to see that you can act like you're alive, given the proper motivation," he remarked conversationally. "And where might your wayward son be?"

"Sill aboard the ship, of course," answered Hector grimly. "I told him to get below and stay out of sight – he hasn't been trained as a warrior yet."

Achilles laughed with much amusement. "He's not going to do that! Knowing Paris, he was extremely unhappy about being left behind – he won't make it worse by hiding," he commented with the weight of experience in his tone. "But at least he's out of danger. Never tell him, but I'm relieved that he's not going to be a part of this, even though –"

Whatever he was going to say was cut off by a startled cry coming from one of the Trojan soldiers. They'd almost crashed head-first into the opposing army, but the sooner-than-expected arrival of the threat wasn't the reason for the outburst. The army that had rushed to meet them, that had been attempting to breach the walls of the city and were being pursued even as they gawked, was made up entirely of Trojans – some Hector recognized as a part of his father's personal troops, some older palace guards, most past the traditional age of Trojan warriors but still armed with their weapons and skills from their years of service. Even Lord Isidore was there, standing a little ways behind the biggest shock of all: Priam, at the head.

An icy exterior formed over the furious fire that threatened to consume Hector upon seeing his and his son's chief tormentors. He held his fist up, signaling for his men to hold, grateful when Odysseus and Achilles followed with similar gestures without a question or request for clarification. The other two leaders hung back, though, when Hector stepped forward, for these were the Trojan prince's demons to confront.

"Father," he greeted frostily.

"Hector," returned Priam, his voice full with as much venom as the most poisonous snake. "Just when I thought that I could not be any more disgraced by you, you have the insolence to not only to come back, but also to bring with you the filth that the sea was supposed to carry off. Have you found your place among the uneducated barbarians and uncouth savages?"

"These men have more honor in one toe than you have in your whole twisted soul," Hector told him evenly. "At least they don't try to attack their own city."

"You are one to talk," retorted Priam. "Or were you expecting a warm welcome for everyone present after you committed treason?"

"I can honestly say that I expected nothing less than your utter hate," replied Hector. "But I wasn't going to besiege the whole city just to talk to you. What happened, Father? Did the people actually heed my call and rise up against you?"

"Do not act so ignorant," hissed Lord Isidore, bold at his safe distance from Hector's sword. "It is obvious that you engineered this whole coup, and not only by spurring them on with your traitorous words. Imagine all of our surprise when a spineless piece of flesh like you showed so much ambition."

Hector spared him no glance; without Priam on the throne, Isidore had no power. He chose to keep his unwavering stare on his father's face. "I wish that I could take the credit for that," he declared, "but alas, I had nothing to do with it. Oh well; that doesn't matter, for you were dethroned all the same. Whom do I now call my king?"

At this Priam laughed bitterly. "It appears that we gave you too much credit – you really are that stupid and oblivious," he said. "They rose up in your name, you ignorant boy; they hold the city against its rightful king because of an imposter. King Hector," he mocked, sounding as if he'd never heard anything more absurd.

"I think it has a nice ring to it," interjected Odysseus.

"You would," snapped Priam bitingly. "But you are a boorish savage and I know the truth. You're nothing but a weak boy, Hector, who allowed himself to be seduced by an opportunistic servant whore and then grew up to be a worthless man obsessed with his bastard child. Where is that little whore-spawn, Hector? Did he reject you? Did he take one look at what you truly are and recoil in disgust? The thing never did have a strong constitution"

"He put up with you for all of these years," Achilles spoke up nastily. "I think that speaks wonders about what Paris can handle."

Priam, so focused on Hector that he didn't take the time to note all of the people who came with him, nearly gagged at the sight of Achilles. "How dare you bring this back to my land!" he demanded fiercely, "and probably that ruined whore of a son as well!"

"Paris Alexandros," said Hector through gritted teeth, "is anything but ruined. Without you and that perverted excuse for a man that is Lord Isidore in his life he has blossomed quite nicely."

"And they think that you could be a king," scoffed Priam. "You will never amount to anything without my guidance and now I would rather spill your blood myself than watch you take my throne."

The scene turned chaotic in an instant. The Trojans who had accompanied Hector had already effectively rejected Priam as their king. As long as Priam sat on the throne of Troy they had been men without countries, loyal only to Hector and the loved ones that were forced to hide in the mountains. An army controlling the city in Hector's name meant that they had a home again, and they couldn't think of a better king than the commander that they'd been willing to give up so much for. Not many causes would justify spilling the blood of their brethren-in-arms, but the promise of having a trustworthy ruler of royal blood was enough for them.

As Trojan fought Trojan, the Ithacans and Myrmidons threw themselves into battle. That day they weren't just fighting because Odysseus and Achilles had different reasons for being loyal to Hector; they were battling for the future of their lands. Priam, whom they'd made their enemy, as king of the most powerful city in the Aegean meant years of war and turmoil. To have Hector as the king meant that the alliances that they'd come to Troy for in the first place would probably be formed and all would not be in vain.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

All that depended on the outcome of the battle was not lost on Patroclus. He forged ahead in earnest, slaying one enemy after another and focusing ever onward to the next. It was almost too easy, he decided; and that in part made him uneasy, though it filled him with a reckless courage that seemed natural for anyone related to Achilles. They were fighting a force made up mostly of old men, for the gods' sake! While he understood that didn't mean anything in itself – many a soldier could make up for being past his prime by using his intelligence – it still felt odd. If they weren't so highly detestable he might have actually felt a little bad about the fact that he could – and would – kill as many of them as time allowed.

Well, he would almost feel that way about most of them – but definitely not the one that was currently standing before him with his sword poised. The leering look on his face reminded Patroclus of the way that so many people used to look at Paris, and he wondered how his friend endured what was making him nauseous for so long. "Look what I found," the Trojan sneered. "A little Myrmidon."

"Aren't you observant," said Patroclus flatly, all the while gleefully thinking about all the way he was going to wipe that smirk off of his repulsive face. He moved his hand so that the light would reflect off of his sword even more keenly. "Now see if you can tell me what this is."

"Tart tongue, willful attitude, stamina to boot, and it looks like all of that dirt is hiding something not bad to look at," the man remarked lewdly. "I had a horse like that once, but I found that he was easy to tame if I just touched him in the right way. What about you, little barbarian? Are you going to break just as quickly when I mount you?"

Patroclus didn't have time to respond before someone came up from behind him and launched himself at the Trojan while bellowing an outraged roar. "Eudores!" Patroclus yelled at the interloper, pulling him off of the now-dead man. Eudores, rapt in his furor, didn't come easily and Patroclus' effort made them both stumble back onto the sand. "What do you think you're doing? I had him!"

"He said – he said that he was going to –"

"Mount me?" Patroclus laughed sarcastically. "And you, thinking that I was just going to stand there and simper, figured that you'd swoop in and save poor, helpless me? Have you no faith in my abilities? Why do you even care anyway?"

"I care," responded Eudores faintly as Patroclus' face began to swim out of focus. "I love you…"

Eudores' voice trailed off as he blacked out, slumping against his young lover. "Eudores!" cried Patroclus. He shifted the slack body around to support him and his face blanched as his hand found the problem.

"No," he breathed. The Trojan had gotten in a lucky thrust, or else the dead man's sword had accidentally shifted during the struggle – it didn't matter how it happened. What matter was that Eudores' side was bleeding and that blood now covered Patroclus' hand. "No!" Patroclus shrieked, catching the attention of another Myrmidon nearby. "Get a healer!" he ordered, not caring anymore about the battle. "Get a healer, get a healer! In the name of the gods, if you know what's good for you, you'll get a healer!"

Patroclus cradled Eudores in his arms as the other man ran off, rocking as the sound of his lover's ragged breathing let him know that he was still alive. "You stupid idiot," sobbed Patroclus. "You stupid idiot…"

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Achilles wasn't aware of Eudores' dire situation; he was too busing on the other end of the battle, searching for one man through all of the bloodshed: Lord Isidore. There were no words to describe how much he despised that man! When they had been two days out from Troy Paris had finally confided the last little bit of Priam's plans, namely how Isidore was to viciously rape him in front of the now dethroned king. He hadn't told him before, it seemed, because he feared that Achilles would snap and do something rash that would have made their escape impossible.

Paris' caution had been valid then, when the warrior had planned to have Troy be nothing more than an unpleasant memory, but now their fates were tied to the battle and Achilles had been unleashed. He had the opportunity now to let the lecherous lord know just what he thought about both the abuse of his lover and the way that he 'trained' the prostitutes. Achilles clenched his fist around the hilt of his sword. Yes, he was going to kill him, but not before he cut his balls off and shoved them down his throat.

His search, however, proved fruitless. Achilles' blood ran cold at the realization: Lord Isidore wasn't there anymore. Paris was alone and unguarded at the boats and Isidore hand managed to slip off during the confusion of the battle.

To be continued…

A/N: Ijust want to take the time to thank everyone who's reviewed. It means a lot to me!