A/N: I know it's been forever, but here's another chapter. Aint that great but it's all I could do for now since I'm a bit rusty (it's been over a year since I saw Troy!). This is because some recent reviews have encouraged me to write again, and I must admit I missed it. Thanks guys!
Patroclus awoke to the sound of yelling soldiers. His eyes quickly adjusted to the pitch black, but he was disturbed by the commotion. He got up quickly and headed outside. The scene that awaited him caused the blood to boil in his veins. The Trojans had treacherously sacked their encampment with fireballs, and the devastation was to be seen everywhere. Burning tents, scores of injured Greek soldiers, broken ranks – and the fury within him kept on building. He could not understand how, or why, Achilles had decided to forgo the war. But he was positive that after tonight, his cousin would be the first to raise his sword. And Partoclus would be right beside him, no matter how much Achilles protested. He was ready for battle, and he would prove it to his cousin and the Myrmidons, no matter what.
He headed toward Achilles' men who were bravely resisting the Trojan onslaught. The only sign of light on the beach came from the balls of fire and a pale moon by which the Greeks were given an opportunity for survival. Patroclus reached Eudorus and marched with him, driving away the enemy horsemen. He knew that Eudorus hated to see him anywhere near harm's way, on Achilles' orders, but he didn't care. When Eudorus opened his mouth to protest Patroclu's presence, the younger man cut in fiercely.
"If you are going to tell me to wait in my tent to die, your words will be in vain."
Eudorus frowned. "Follow the retreating soldiers. This is no place for you."
"I am a man, a soldier, trained by Achilles. This is the only place for me," Patroclus argued stubbornly. "I came for battle. I will have my battle," he continued, unsheathing his sword.
At that instant a horseman marched toward the pair, knocking Eudorus onto the ground with his shield. Patroclus stood in place firmly, decisively, and put his years of practice into action. He swung at the faceless horseman with his sword, cutting him across his chest before the man had a chance to react. He fell from his horse and Partoclus wasted no time. He swung his sword again, delivering the final blow. After his victory, he stood over the corpse, his chest heaving as he struggled for breath.
His first kill.
He'd killed his first man, but he felt nothing. Not pride, not regret, not guilt. Nothing. He stood still for a moment, confused. Surely a single feeling should be accompanied with killing a man, but it hadn't reached him yet. He felt a hand on his shoulder and spun around, coming face to face with Eudorus.
"You are skilled with the sword," Eudorus said, surprised.
"I am a soldier. I was born to fight. This corpse," he replied, pointing the tip of his sword to the bundle on the sand, "is my first victory. Now I shall claim more, and in the morning even more."
"You are skilled with the sword," Eudorus repeated, "but are much too young. Follow the retreating soldiers, Partoclus. Leave."
The younger man frowned. "Nobody orders me around. Either let me fight with you, or I will fight alone."
Eudorus shook his head. "It's over, Patroclus." He waved his hand in front of them. "The Trojans have receded. Their raid is over. Go back to your tent."
Patroclus looked around, realizing that Eudorus was right. The Trojans had left as quickly as they had appeared, but the Greek camp was still in chaos. He felt regret seep into him for wasting his time on Eudorus when he could have spent it raking down the enemy. Shaking his head in disappointment, mostly at himself, he left Eudorus without a word and headed back to his tent. He sat silently for a long time, and as the first rays of dawn slipped through the opening of his tent, he made his resolve. He stood up and marched toward Achilles' quarters, all the choice words he'd prepared for his cousin brimming at the tip of his tongue. As he entered, the sight that presented itself before him startled him at first, but the surprise was quickly replaced by fury.
Achilles and the Trojan woman were naked in his bed, her arm spread across his cousin's waist, both sleeping soundly. As Patroclus observed them, it became obvious why Achilles refused to fight. It wasn't because of Agamemnon or hurt pride or any of the reasons he'd thought.
It was because of a Trojan woman.
Shaking his head in disgust, he tore his eyes away from the bed and walked to where Achilles' armor was placed. He found it abandoned and cold. But on this day it would be worn, and the Greeks would defeat the Trojans. He lifted the armor, piece by piece, and returned to his tent. There he prepared himself in his cousin's war gear, and when he heard the Greeks heading for battle, he placed the helmet carefully over his head, making sure that his golden locks – the same ones his cousin had – peered out from underneath the metal. He emerged from his tent and hurried after the Greeks, making sure that the Myrmidons saw him clearly. He trudged forward in the same way Achilles did, swiftly and rapidly, his shoulders bent slightly forward.
As he passed by the ranks of the soldiers, they roared but one name – Achilles! And it didn't matter if he was Achilles in the morning because they would find him to be the fierce Petroclus in the evening as they returned from their victory. The Myrmidons bounded bravely behind him, mistaking him for their leader, and they headed to clash with the enemy.
Patroclus cut down many a soldier, swinging his sword in every which way, feeling absolutely nothing but his heartbeat thundering in his ears. The Greek soldiers were fighting furiously, their morale boosted because they thought they had the mighty Achilles in their ranks. But they had something even better – a man trained by Achilles who was smarter than to fall for an enemy woman, or any woman for that matter. He was in the heat of battle when a powerful man approached him, and Patroclus knew it was the mighty Hector. He felt a twinge of fear slice through him, but he forced it to the depths of his soul as he prepared for the moment that would make or break him.
And in that moment, as Hector swung decisively at him, he remembered Achilles' words of warning, but they were too late. He felt the cold blade cut through his throat, and everything slowed down as his last moments of life ticked by. He could feel the shock of the Greeks, even the Trojans, for they all believed the mighty Achilles had finally fallen. Patroclus stumbled back, the pain searing through his body, and Eudorus, faithful Eudorus caught him as he fell. He was slowly brought to the ground, unable to speak because his own blood was chocking him.
"M-my Lord," Eudorus managed painfully as he lifted the helmet off Patroclus' head. And he wished he could die a million deaths when he saw the face behind the mask.
"Petroclus!" He cried in disbelief, lifting his eyes to a shocked, horrified Hector. "You didn't kill Achilles, you killed a boy!"
Hector stared down at the dying boy in disbelief. The ugliness and cruelty of war presented itself to him once again, and his face darkened. He turned to his soldiers and ordered them to retreat, deciding he's had enough for the day. As the sun set slowly, painfully on the beaches of Troy, the Greeks headed back to their camp.
Eudorus walked the slowest, terrified and guilt-ridden as to how he was going to face Achilles. He held Petroclus' necklace in his hand and the Myrmidons carried his body, defeat apparent on their faces. When he approached Achilles' tent he hesitated, knowing that the worst was yet to come.
Achilles spent a portion of his day blissfully entangled in Briseis, and a portion of it furiously waiting for the Myrmidons to return from battle and explain to him what happened to obeying his command and what happened to his armor. He considered seeking out Patroclus and trying to mend their strained relations, but he knew how hotheaded and stubborn his cousin was and decided to give it some more time. Briseis, on the other hand, spent her time on the beach, and he looked after her from outside of his tent to make sure she wouldn't be harassed by anyone. He was disappointed that they had to spend another day here, in the war, when he'd been prepared to leave. But tomorrow they would set sail, even if he had to force his men to do it.
He still couldn't believe that Eudorus and the rest of his crew would betray his command. They had never done such a thing before and they had better not do it ever again, or there would be dire consequences. But as he leaned back and watched Briseis occupy herself on the beach, he realized that in the past few days many stranger things had happened. He, for instance, had given up his glory for a Trojan priestess, who was now his lover.
He frowned at the word, banishing it from his thoughts. Lover was too crude a word to describe what Briseis meant to him. She was…something he never thought he wanted, or needed. And he was the same to her, he knew that, and it pleased him. Before he couldn't care less about what the women thought of him as long as they gave their bodies to him, but before he also wouldn't be sitting while a war was being waged.
Ah, before seemed like a lifetime ago. He smiled as Briseis, his Briseis, walked back from the sea, the hem of her dress drenched and entangled between her ankles. The sun was still high in the sky, its rays bouncing off her beautiful brown locks and causing her eyes to twinkle. She lifted a hand to her forehead to shield her eyes from the piercing sun.
"I thought you would tire watching me play in the water like a child," she said as she sat next to him, causing his smile to widen.
"You are anything but a child, Briseis, and I have the pleasure of knowing that." He looked at her then, searching her face for a reaction, and he read the embarrassment in her eyes. "There you go again," he continued, refusing to be disappointed. "You cannot let yourself be so shy. It will eat you up."
"I cannot stop being who I was my entire life in two days," she replied.
"Your person and your feelings are two completely different things. You're embarrassed simply because you've been taught your entire life that the ultimate intimacy shared between a man and a woman is something to be frowned upon. But you should know-"
"I don't believe," she cut in sharply, "that the ultimate intimacy shared between a man and a woman is, ahem…" she faltered, unsure of how to put into words what they had shared.
"Sex?" Achilles offered simply, and her cheeks reddened a bit.
"Yes, that. That's physical. It's not forever. But what's in the heart, that's forever. That is the ultimate bond," she concluded firmly, rendering him speechless. They stared at one another for a long while until he finally mustered enough courage to speak.
"So what is in your heart, Briseis? Is there really a bond to mine? Can you even believe that I have a heart?"
She tilted her head and observed him for a moment. Somewhere in the distance, a long distance away, the muffled cries of war could be heard. But here, in their place, all she heard was their breathing and the beating of her heart. She smiled, watching as his eyes softened, pleased with what she saw.
"Even if it scares you, Achilles, you do have a heart," she said finally. "And even if it scares me, there is a bond between yours and mine."
He swallowed hard as a burst of warmth erupted from somewhere deep within his chest and spread throughout his entire body, causing his fingertips to tingle. She did that to him, with a simple smile and a few words, and he knew his reaction wasn't physical, and it terrified him. He had to look away in order to regain control of the situation, in order to have the upper hand once again. In the dark he didn't have to analyze himself and she didn't force him to, and he liked that. He liked the dark. He could excuse every single emotion she stirred within him to be sexual, and it worked when she was molded against him, and he felt safe. But underneath the bright, piercing sunlight he could see the physical space between them and he still felt bursts of emotion stir within him while he had no excuse for them. He felt much safer knowing that at any moment he could die than sitting here, with her, fully clothed, and having a conversation that wasn't a precursor, intermediary, nor would be followed by sex. If he could somehow be certain of the sex factor he could excuse even this little talk they were having, but at that moment he didn't feel aroused in any way other than emotionally.
Finally he cleared his throat and stood to his feet, not knowing how to respond. As he silently went inside his tent, she followed suit, a bit afraid that she'd pushed him too hard. She had a habit of doing that with him; or rather they both had a habit of doing that to each other. While she pushed him emotionally, he pushed her physically, and it was a dangerous game they were playing. But in the end she knew, or at least she hoped that they could teach each other the pieces both of them were missing because, if she was going to give up her entire world for this man, he had better be worth it. He had better be worth it once the sun was up too, not just in the dark hours of the night.
He walked around aimlessly and she observed him from the entrance. "If it would make you feel better," she began, causing him to stop and look at her, "you could give me a bath."
She read the surprise in his eyes and couldn't help but be surprised herself. "I'm not the only one who's easy to read around here," she said, and he shook his head.
"You know," he began, but faltered, taking a step away from her. "You understand that this is difficult for me. You are a smart woman, so I know that you understand. But you are stubborn as hell and don't know when to stop."
"And you understand that this is difficult for me too," she retorted. "More difficult than it is for you. But somehow a woman is less of a coward than the mighty Achilles when it comes to this."
His eyes narrowed dangerously. "I am no coward. You better watch what you say."
"Or what?" She tested uncertainly. "You'll slit my throat?"
"Why!" He yelled, approaching her. "Why do you do it? Why isn't this enough for you?"
"Because I'm terrified! Because I'm so terrified, I'm terrified of leaving with you and I'm terrified of leaving you behind!" She yelled back at him. "There, I said it. I said it and I stand by it. But you refuse to say it, and I don't know why. Would it help if we were in bed?" She said furiously, prying a button loose on her dress. "Would it help if you had me under you, would you at least then admit to something?" She undid another button and another and the curve of her breast became visible, and he stormed at her, clutching her wrists tightly.
"Stop," he ordered, shaking her. "You want me to admit something? You know that I can't! You understand who I am. Isn't that enough for you!"
She searched his eyes desperately. "I need something, anything. I can't stay here with nothing."
A long stretch of silence fell between them like a ton until he finally spoke.
"You mumble," he said, watching as confusion clouded her face.
"What?"
"You talk in your sleep. You…you say stuff like moonlight and mumble songs, or poetry, or something of the like." His grip on her wrists loosened and he felt the tension seep out of her body. "And I lay there just listening to you, thinking about what kind of world you lived in before you met me, fearing that it was better than the world you know now." He took in a deep breath as her face softened. "And I fight to keep my eyes open, to listen to your voice a little longer, but sleep overtakes me and I know I'm smiling as I drift away."
"Achilles-"
"And it's not wrong if I want to make love to you all the time. Most women are reassured by that. And you're wrong to think it's only physical. Maybe – maybe it was before you, Briseis, but it isn't anymore."
"Achilles," she attempted again, planting her palms on his cheeks.
"And if you ever speak of this to anyone I would have to-"
She cut him off as she pulled him into a kiss, and for a moment he was so surprised that he was frozen in place. But then the taste of her filled his mouth again, that familiar taste, and slowly he began to lose grip on reality. He had just spilled his guts to her, in the best, most awkward way he knew, and she'd simply kissed him. They were slowly learning to speak each other's language, and they were beginning to understand one another better, and he liked that.
Briseis shut her eyes tightly to keep the tears from coming out. She could still barely breathe from his confession because she realized she couldn't handle it. She thought she could, but it was too intense. And how else did she think it was going to be, coming from him? She was a fool…but she needed to be sure. And now she finally was, and it was enough.
He broke the kiss when it began to get serious, and answered her question before she had a chance to ask it. "I'm not going to validate your accusation," he said, stepping away from her.
"Okay," she agreed, shrugging. "But I still need that bath," she said innocently, causing him to laugh.
"Impossible! Impossible!" He exclaimed, grabbing her and lifting her off the floor. "Let's give you that bath, then," he said and carried her to the tub.
