A/N: Again, muchos gracias for the great reviews. You guys inspire me. Picture Girl, I knew I should have let it be with that jerk, but I didn't. I'm glad you clarified the points the idiot had overlooked while "researching" this topic in "college." I'm having a fabulous time writing this fic. I just hope I can do them justice.
Briseis shuddered when she felt their large, savage hands grope every part of her body. The nightmare had begun at sunset when Agamemnon had returned to his tent, furious. He'd spotted her while he was in his rage, slapping her viciously when she was within arm's range. He'd then taken her by the hair and dragged her outside, turning her over to the mercy of his soldiers. She'd realized then that the Greeks had suffered a devastating defeat, and was both thrilled and dismayed because of it.
If the Greeks had been defeated, it probably meant that Achilles had fallen.
If Agamemnon had decided to harm her, Achilles was surely dead.
She tried to ignore the pain the soldiers were causing her as they tossed her around in their cruel game. At that moment she felt nothingness, and it frightened her. She felt completely removed from the world, or at least wished that she was. After the soldiers had their way with her, she knew they would slit her throat. Just as she was about to give up all hope on survival, a surge of bravery overtook her and she fought back, hitting one of the burly men square in the jaw. He howled like a wild animal as he staggered backward, and she felt her captor tighten his grip on her arms. She felt herself slipping from consciousness as she saw another soldier lift a burning coal toward her, and then everything happened in a flash.
Achilles surged forward, seizing the stick of scorching coal from the soldier. He pressed the hot substance against the man's neck, and Briseis heard a sickening sizzle before blackness overtook her. As Achilles attacked the man who held her, she fell to the floor soundlessly, and a moment later he lifted her into his arms. She felt almost weightless as he trudged toward his tent, but he knew that her size belied the strength she possessed within. When he saw her strike the soldier in defiance, his heart had swelled with pride and he was more sure than ever that they were more alike than they were different. She would not allow herself to be humiliated, even if she had to die protecting her pride. And that pleased him tremendously. Before he knew her he'd scoff at such an arrogant woman, but the priestess deserved anything other than that. She demanded respect, and as he placed her on the woolen mat inside his tent, he realized that he respected her immensely.
As soon as her legs hit the ground, she stirred in his arms, and slapped him away once she was fully awake. She scrambled away from him clumsily, still shaken from the rough treatment she'd been subjected to. He hesitated for a moment to observe her, and then stood up to bring the washbasin to her. He saw, with great irritation and anger, that her face had been struck several times, with blood trickling from her swelling wounds. His hands shook slightly as he lifted the wash towel to her face, but she stubbornly swatted them away. Annoyed, he reached for her face again, only to be rebuffed by her. He grunted, throwing the towel at her. She was a real piece of work. Not only had he saved her from a fate worse than death, but he'd offered to help clean her wounds, and she wasn't grateful in the least. It bothered him terribly that she still hated him, but if he was honest with himself, he couldn't find a reason for her not to.
Briseis took the towel from her lap slowly, eyeing him as he stood to his feet. She was torn between the unexpected happiness she felt when she saw that he was alive and the overwhelming anger at him for allowing her to be treated so horribly. When he'd reached for her a moment ago, both fear and excitement had sliced down her spine and she'd reacted the only way she could. When he'd reached for her the second time, she became annoyed that he hadn't gotten a clue from her first reaction. He probably was just a stupid beast who understood warfare and nothing else.
Achilles turned his back to her for a moment, then turned back to find her staring at him. He wanted to break the tension between them, and blurted out the first thing that came to his mind.
"You were brave back there when you fought off that soldier. It took a lot of courage," he said.
Briseis scoffed. "Courage? Please, a dog has that kind of courage to defend itself when it is attacked."
Achilles swallowed hard, furious that she refused to accept even a compliment from him. He watched her as she cleaned the blood from her face, her radiance beginning to break through, little by little. Her head was bent again, hiding her eyes from him, and he didn't know whether he liked or detested it. He'd never seen eyes as expressive as hers before, and he'd never really cared to look into anyone's until she came along. They did everything imaginable to him. They accused him, aroused him, infuriated him, and soothed him. There was a calm aura about her that he hadn't felt until now, an aura he was still struggling to understand. After observing her for a while, he realized that he had yet to know her name.
"When I asked you a question yesterday," he began suddenly, startling her, "you never answered me."
Briseis looked up, a shiver dancing across her spine. "And what would you like to know, oh mighty Achilles?"
Anger flashed in his eyes for a moment, but he fought to suppress it. "Your name," he said softly, surprising them both.
She looked down at the stained towel she held in her hands, then back at him. "Briseis," she answered with equal softness. "My name is Briseis."
The name filled his mind, and he bounced it off his tongue silently before testing how it sounded coming from his mouth. "Briseis," he murmured, and it exploded from his lips like a ball of passion.
She froze, startled by the way his voice quivered when he said her name. She felt her heartbeat quicken, felt a searing fire erupt in her fingertips and spread throughout her body. "Yes?" she whispered and their eyes met like magnets.
"It's a nice name."
"It's just a name," she retorted, finally willing herself to look away.
Achilles smiled, more amused than annoyed. If she hadn't learned by now, he wasn't used to giving compliments, and she was a fool for pulling each one out of him only to throw them away. He moved in front of her and sat down, aware that they were only an arms distance from each other. "When you were alone, today, what did you think about?" He asked, waiting for her to look up.
"About war," she replied, meeting his gaze with equal, more innocent intensity. "About war and how much I detest it."
He remained silent, dumbfounded as to how he should respond.
"You like it, don't you?" She continued, wiping the last traces of blood from her face. His breath became more shallow when he saw just how beautiful she was, but instead he decided to focus on her question.
"Like what?"
"War. Being a soldier. Killing men." Her voice was full of disgust and he shifted uncomfortably. She was the first woman who'd succeeded at making him uncomfortable without even trying. "Well I hate it," she said again. "I pity all you soldiers with everything inside me."
He leaned in closer, lowering his voice as he spoke. "Hundreds of men fought today to protect you. I think they deserve more than just your pity."
She parted her lips to say something, but failed to produce an argument. Achilles sat back, proud of his conquest. Battling the most challenging of warriors wasn't as satisfying as rendering her speechless. And he'd do it again and again, until she crumbled.
"You're a priestess, Briseis. You honor the gods - Apollo, Zeus, Athena. But what about Aries, the god of war?"
"All gods are to be equally respected and feared," she answered quickly, averting her gaze from his.
"So you realize that war has as equal importance in life as anything else?" He prodded, but she gave him no reply. "I'll tell you something now, something they will never teach you at your temple," he said, leaning into her again. His voice dropped by a note, sending a shiver down her back. "The gods envy us. They envy us because we are mortal, because every moment could be our last. That makes everything all the more beautiful. We will never be in this place again, we will never experience anything twice." He hesitated, enjoying the way her face reddened as he spoke. "You will never be this beautiful again. Knowing that every moment could be our last makes it so much more special, so much more intense. Our curse - our mortality - is in fact our greatest blessing."
Briseis stared at him, unable to move. He sat still for a moment before rising and walking away from her. He returned with a platter of food and placed it in front of her.
"Eat," he commanded, not knowing what else to say. A few moments with her and he was spouting poetry. If he could manage it, he'd be disgusted with himself.
"I thought you were just a dumb brute," Briseis said finally, reaching for a grape and popping it into her mouth. "I could have forgiven a dumb brute."
Achilles froze at her words, his face turning into a mask of stone. He'd make her forgive him somehow, even though he couldn't imagine how he'd actually injured her. How others felt about him had never concerned him before, but he'd also never recited sonnets until she came along. Knowing that she still hated him affected him deeply, but he'd change that if it was the last thing he did. He would not only make her forgive him, but would make her ache for him like every woman before her had. He'd conquer her, too, he promised himself as he watched her eat. He'd conquer her mind, body, and soul, or he'd die trying.
