A blood red colour mixed with deep oranges and purples filled the sky that afternoon, on the day of Achilles's death. His body had been taken to the Greeks, who were shocked and distraught at the sight, by a selection of soldiers who only said that Prince Paris had killed him.

"Priam gave no word as to why Achilles was killed?" asked Agamemnon, as he sat in his tent surrounded by Kings of the Aegean and various other men. He was stunned by the news of Achilles's death, even more so when he heard that Paris had killed him with one shot to the heel. "I thought he was supposed to marry Priam's daughter, why did Paris kill him if that was already planned?"

"Achilles was supposed to marry Princess Polyxena, or so he thought," answered Odysseus quietly. The news of his friend's death had shaken him greatly. "Priam most likely lied to Achilles so he would go to the city again, to be killed."

"With Achilles gone, how can we be expected to win the war?" asked Philoctetes. He had only joined the war alongside the Greeks three years ago. A snake bite had prevented him from coming sooner as it had been incurable at the time, but was now healed.

"We will win this war!" exclaimed Agamemnon, determinedly, and he hammered his clenched fist down onto the arm of his throne. He panted heavily, furious with Priam's ploy to lure Achilles to Troy so he could be killed.

"How?" asked Odysseus and studied Agamemnon carefully.

"The Trojans no longer have Hector, and their army is dwindling day by day!" replied Agamemnon. He sighed heavily, sunk back into his throne and massaged his temple.

"Troy is protected by their walls," said Odysseus, "which has always been a great advantage to them. Even if their army is decreasing, so are our armies. The Trojans can still hide within their walls, we cannot."

"We will not fight for seventeen days," said Agamemnon after a few moments of thought, "instead we will have the funeral games for Achilles. But after that we will continue to fight until we find a way to break into Troy's walls and finish this war once and for all."

A chorus of agreement broke out among the men surrounding Agamemnon, though all of them were doubtful that they could ever invade Troy as its walls could not be breached, and they could think of no way for their armies to enter Troy.

That night, under a blanket of twinkling stars, Achilles's body was burned. The Kings of the Aegean gathered around the great pyre, along with their soldiers, and watched as the fire consumed their greatest warrior.

Once Achilles's body was burned, his ashes were gathered by Eudorus and mixed into a golden urn that held Patroclus's ashes, and then the urn was buried in the White Island.

A young boy, no older than thirteen, journeyed from his home on Mount Ida, where he lived with his mother Oenone, and headed towards Troy. His name was Corythus and he had been told stories of his father, the Prince of Troy, for years but only now dared to slip away from tending his sheep, without telling his mother, to go to the great city where his father lived.

He had no expectations of his father being a perfect man whom he could idolize, because he had already heard countless tales, from gossiping women, of how he bedded different women each night and his involvement in the war with Greece.

Corythus had only seen his father once in a village on Mount Ida, and despite his faults he had dreamt of seeing him again for years, ever since he had been told by his mother he was the son of a prince. He was excited to study his father and see if he looked like him, as he had only seen him briefly and from a distance, and whether or not they shared the same eyes and nose or any other feature.

His mother had only spoken of Corythus's father once, and that was to tell him that Prince Paris of Troy was his father. She only replied with one word when her son asked her questions about Paris, or did not answer at all because the pain at leaving him still tore at her heart, especially as Corythus was growing to look and act like Paris more and more, and less like her.

Oenone had gone to Troy, years ago when Paris was in Sparta. She was pregnant with Corythus then, which she had not foreseen, and she wished to tell him. Hecuba had sent her away, claiming that Paris would not care if he had a child with her or not, and so Oenone went to Mount Ida, the place she had grew up and where she wished her child to grow.

There was no fighting on the plain that day, the Greeks still mourned for Achilles and were holding funeral games, so the Trojans that had come out from their walls to gather food and wood, were now heading back into the city as it was getting dark.

It was easy for Corythus to enter the city, the gates were open for those who gathered food and timber, and no one questioned him. He walked through the city, marveling at the great city of Troy. He had seen Troy from the distance, but had never stood so close to the walls that still sparkled like gold despite the war, or the beautiful statues of gods and goddesses.

Noticing the palace of Troy as he walked through the courtyard, Corythus headed towards it, gasping at the magnificent sight. He walked quickly now he had seen the palace, his breath quickening with excitement.

Night had slowly fallen over Troy and Helen sat in her chamber, working at her loom. She brushed the sweat from her forehead in frustration and sighed heavily. She looked out to the balcony and rose from her chair and stepped out onto it, wishing to feel the night air against her face.

The door to the chamber opened and Paris entered; sweat trickling from his brow also. He had been in a meeting with his father and the Elders, which had occupied most of the day for him.

Paris saw Helen out on the balcony and walked over to her. He wrapped his arms around her waist and rested his chin on her shoulder, wishing to receive comfort from her as he still felt shock after killing Achilles. He did not feel regret for killing him, instead he felt shock, incredible shock that he had killed the great warrior Achilles.

Helen turned her head slightly and kissed Paris's lips softly.

"It feels as if a dark cloud over Troy has gone, now that Achilles is dead," said Helen once she withdrew her lips from Paris's.

"Yes," murmured Paris in agreement.

Corythus, hiding in the garden of Troy below Helen and Paris's balcony, watched as his father kissed the woman he knew to be Helen. He had heard tales of Helen's beauty, but did not find her worthy of such beauty because he knew she had left her daughter in Sparta and had started a war.

The young boy had gone to the guards at the palace entrance but they had laughed at him when he asked to see his father, Prince Paris. He waited though, even though darkness was falling around him and his mother would be frantic with worry, until the guards were not looking and had rushed into the stables and found himself in the garden, where he was now.

He finally decided to see his father now and entered the palace and searched for his chamber, a vague idea of where it would be after seeing the balcony to it.

A quiet knock to Helen and Paris's chamber sounded and Paris ordered the person to enter, it was a servant.

"Your father wishes to see you in his chamber now," said the servant, after bowing in front of Helen and Paris, "he wishes to discuss the battle tomorrow."

"Very well," Paris sighed, now understanding how his brother must have felt at being called from his chamber to discuss battle at various hours of the day. He kissed Helen goodbye and made to leave with the servant when Helen called to him.

"Distinguish the torches before you leave, my love," said Helen, "I'm going to bed as my head aches from the heat."

Paris nodded and extinguished all of the fires before leaving the chamber.

Helen walked over to her bed, without changing into her night robe, and crept into it. She felt completely exhausted and pulled the sheets over her and waited for sleep to come.

Sleep had almost consumed Helen when she heard the door to her chamber open, but as she expected it to be Paris, she kept her eyes closed and continued to try and sleep. She heard, who she thought was him, stumble into a chair and immediately sat up in the bed.

"Paris?" whispered Helen, but as she narrowed her eyes to see in the darkness of the room, she saw it was not Paris.

"Where is my father?" asked a voice, causing Helen to jump in fright.

Helen could see, with the moon as her only light, a large shadow against the wall belonging to a young boy. She reached for Paris's small knife that he kept beside their bed and clenched it within her hand.

"Where is my father?" repeated the voice of Corythus.

"Who is your father?" asked Helen, inwardly dreading the answer.

"Paris of Troy," he answered.

Helen closed her eyes for a few minutes, hoping that if she opened her eyes the child in front of her would be gone. She opened them once more and saw the boy still there and noticed how tall he was, yet he had a child-like face.

"Paris?" whispered Helen hoarsely and stepped out of the bed. She looked at the boy, her eyes wide at how alike to Paris he looked, he shared the same hair, the same mouth and nose, but his eyes were different from Paris's. "Paris has no son, he has no children." She saw the boy walk towards her, barely able to see his face now in the darkness, and stepped back.

"I saw him!" cried Corythus. "I saw my father on the balcony! Where is he, why won't you let me see him?"

"Paris is not here," said Helen hastily, making it sound as if she were lying even though she wasn't. She pressed her back up against the war, breathing heavily.

Corythus stopped, leaving barely any space between him and Helen. "I need to see him, let me see him, please." He grabbed onto Helen's hand gently, wanting her to look at him and not avoid his pleading eyes.

Helen screamed at the touch and tried to push past Corythus but he would not let her.

"I have to see him," said Corythus urgently, "I won't allow you to pass until you let me see him." He felt as if Helen was hiding Paris from him deliberately and felt tears seep into his eyes.

On his way back to his chamber after forgetting the recent battle plans, Paris heard a scream coming from his room and instantly knew it was Helen. He raced to his room, withdrawing a small knife from its sheath at his side as he had no sword.

The sight of Helen cowering against the wall in their chamber greeted Paris as he entered. He saw what appeared to be a man in the darkness, although it was only a young boy, shouting at Helen.

Paris quickly pulled the man off Helen, not even looking at the boy who was his son, and he tried to restrain him from squirming in his hands. And then, as if the gods had taken control of his hand, Paris felt the knife slip from his hand and strike into the person's stomach.

The knife, still in Paris's hand, slipped from it, causing a loud clatter to echo around the room as it dropped onto the floor. Corythus fell to the cold floor on his back and looked up to Paris. Paris stepped back, suddenly seeing Corythus's face as he lay on the floor.

"Father?" moaned Corythus, the colour rapidly fading from his face. He coughed up blood and felt it trickle down his chin.

Paris shook his head madly, the eyes he had fallen in love with staring back at him, the eyes of Oenone on his son's face. He stepped back again, shaking madly, and tried to grip onto the bed for support but instead he sunk down to the floor.

In a few minutes Corythus's eyes had closed, his life taken away from him by his father. He wore an expression of contentment as he lay on the floor, and if the blood did not surround him then he would have appeared to be asleep.

"Oh gods," stuttered Paris and he looked at his son, his eyes wide with shock. He crawled over to his son, his son that looked so much like Oenone.

"He was your son?" cried Helen. "You had a son and did not tell me?"

"I did not know!" yelled Paris and he turned his head to look at Helen, hatred flooding over his face. "Do you think I would have killed … my son if I had known who he was?"

Helen shook her head slowly, her heart finally crumbling to a thousand pieces. It was then that she knew, she really knew, that Paris did not love her and she returned the knife she held to its place beside their bed and left the room.

Paris carefully picked his son into his arms, tears freely streaming down his ghost-like face. He embraced the son he had never known, the son he had killed…

A/N: I've planned for some time that Corythus would be in this and that Paris would kill him, which actually happened in the myth, and I did mention that Oenone's stomach swelled (I was suggesting that she was pregnant at the time) in chapter 33 but not to great detail.

In the myth it is said that Paris killed his son because Corythus was attracted to Helen and Helen actually liked him in return which made Paris jealous. So I've changed it quite a bit, but the main thing is that Paris kills his son which I've obviously not changed. Thank you for all of the reviews :)

Queen Arwen – Thank you for the review :) I'm glad you liked the last chapter and the imaginary; I knew you would enjoy Achilles's death ;)

Priestess of the Myrmidon – I'm glad you loved the last chapter, thank you :) Thank you for the review too, and I'm glad that you agree with Polyxena about Andromache being a good queen.

Kitera – Thank you for the review :) I'm glad you still liked the last chapter even though Achilles died in the way that he did. And I'm glad you liked the imaginary too, thank you!

Caz – Helen makes me mad at times too. Thank you for the review :) I'm glad you liked the last chapter, thanks!

WriteAway – I'm glad you like the recent chapters, thanks :) I'm also glad that the story is good despite the sadness in it, thank you and thank you for the review!