Sunlight trickled down onto Paris's face and his eyes slowly opened and adjusted to the light. He turned his head to see where he was and saw he lay on a wooden slab, cushioned with thick royal cloths to make him comfortable.
The sweet scent of fresh grass and flowers roused Paris's spirits slightly and he tried to sit up, but the mere attempt absorbed his energy and he collapsed onto his back once more, which caught the attention of the soldiers carrying him.
They lowered him down onto the ground carefully, inwardly thankful for the rest as their arms were incredibly stiff.
"Where am I?" asked Paris drowsily. He felt beads of sweat rush down his head and tried to wipe them away but he felt too weak to do so.
A soldier leaned over Paris and gently dapped at his head with water that was beginning to warm as the day was so hot. "You are on Mount Ida, my lord," he said as he wiped Paris's brow, "we are taking you to be healed."
After a few moments of rest, the soldiers picked Paris up once more and they continued on their way. They did not know where to find the woman who could heal Prince Paris, but they wandered on regardless.
Deciding to walk in the shade and creep out from beneath the blistering sun, the men changed their course slightly and slipped past various bushes and found themselves in an open space with only trees and wild plants surrounding it, the remains of a small pyre heaped in the center.
To the soldiers' eyes it appeared that the pyre had burnt days ago, perhaps even weeks, and as they scanned the area with their war-trained eyes they saw a woman staring at the pyre.
The woman suddenly looked at them as if she was only aware of their presence, yet she had felt them as they came nearer to her. Her hair was blowing with the wind behind her, as was her thick robe at her ankles. She had almost a wild look, the look of an untamed beauty, and was the opposite of Helen, but looked just as beautiful or perhaps more in some eyes.
"There is no one on Mount Ida who can cure him," spat the woman and she turned to look at Paris. At first pity and compassion absorbed her face but that was soon replaced with anger and deep anguish. She then sharply tore her eyes off Paris and looked to the pyre.
"We were told there was one called Oenone who could help Prince Paris," said one of the soldiers.
"Oenone," whispered Paris, hearing her name. He turned to where his soldiers stood and followed their gaze to where Oenone stood, his one and only true love.
Oenone had not aged a day, her skin was as supple as it had been when Paris had last seen her, her hair was still a chestnut brown and appeared to still be as smooth as silk to touch, but there was something which had changed in her and Paris saw it when he looked into her eyes.
Instead of seeing a joyful glint, the spirit he had seen in her eyes long ago, he now only saw bitterness and grief, and he knew why. He had killed their son, he had killed her son.
Oenone looked to Paris again at the sound of her name coming from his lips. She saw that he was dying, that she was the only one who could end his suffering and save him, but she couldn't. She couldn't cure Paris when he had destroyed the remains of her heart by killing her son, and she gritted her teeth to contain the tears. He had snatched her son's life from him, and she would never forgive him.
"I'm sorry," said Paris weakly and he reached out to Oenone but she stepped back, even though she was feet away, because she feared his touch.
Paris then stood up off the wood he had been resting on. He stumbled to his feet, feeling the life of him fade at each step he took, but he was determined for Oenone to look at him to see he was sorry.
"My lord!" gasped a soldier as he felt Paris brush past him. He tried to hold onto Paris and usher him back onto the wood so he could rest, but Paris was adamant to reach Oenone and pushed past him with as much force as he could muster.
"I didn't know it was him!" mumbled Paris and he outstretched his hand to touch Oenone, but she again stepped back from him.
"He was your son!" cried Oenone and tears suddenly fell from her eyes. She had not shed a tear for years, not since she had left to live on Mount Ida years ago, and it startled her to feel tears touch her cheeks.
"I know," said Paris hoarsely and clung onto a nearby tree trunk, gasping for breath, "and if I could change what I've done then I would!"
"Would you have changed bringing Helen to Troy?" asked Oenone sadly, and looked at Paris out of the corner of her eye.
"Yes!" said Paris adamantly, surprised at his sudden energy, although he felt it quickly leave him, just like his life was. "I don't love Helen, I love you, I always have."
Oenone was silenced by Paris's words and felt a small gasp escape her mouth. She closed her eyes for a few moments to restrain the stream of tears, but when she heard Paris fall to the ground her eyes shot open.
"Paris!" yelped Oenone and she rushed to Paris's side as he lay on the ground beneath the tree. She traced her fingers along his wound and saw her tears drip onto it.
The soldiers advanced toward Oenone and Paris but one look from Oenone made them stop.
"The gods have cursed me since I was born," whispered Oenone, allowing only Paris to hear her as she leant over him, "but I've had two blessings in this world and they are you and Corythus, but now I'm going to lose you both."
"Remember," said Paris, his voice barely above a whisper, "that I never stopped loving you and that … I'm sorry." His eyelids then closed over his eyes and the poison finally took his life.
Oenone cried aloud and caressed Paris's skin but he did not wake, he would never rouse from death. He had never looked so peaceful, lying next to the one he loved as his spirit soared in the air above them and was sent to the underworld.
"Prince Paris?" asked a soldier, almost expecting him to wake. He looked nervously to the other soldiers when the prince did not respond, and knew that he was dead.
"We have to take him back to Troy," said another, staring wide-eyed at the dead prince and the woman beside him.
Oenone kissed Paris's lips softly and brushed the curls away from his eyes before rising to her feet. She said nothing to the soldiers who looked at her expectantly and ignored their calls to her as she drifted away into the trees like a ghost.
She found the deadliest plants in the forest, then mixed them with the fresh water from a spring and swallowed the concoction. Oenone felt a tingling sensation flow through her but then suddenly began to choke and grasped her throat, desperate for air. Within moments death had shrouded over her and she fell to the ground, her life gone.
Paris's body was returned to the city of Troy which once again became a city of mourning, like it had for Hector. Trojans gathered in the streets to watch as Paris's body passed them, now lying on a cart like Hector's body had.
In the entrance hall of the palace the Elders of Troy waited to pay respect to their prince, as did his family and friends. Hecuba was the first to descend the stairs and go to her son, closely followed by Priam. She wept quietly as she kissed her son's forehead, and stepped aside for her husband to see his son.
It was not for a few more moments that Helen finally walked down the steps and looked upon Paris's body. A veil hung over her face so no one saw the tears that slowly fell down her face. She did not only cry for Paris, but for herself. With Paris gone she would be even more isolated in Troy, and she felt as if she no longer had anything to live for.
Helen gently lowered her head over Paris's body and kissed his cold lips, which sent a shiver through her spine. She gazed at Paris and smiled sadly because he had never loved her, not in the way she had wanted.
It was not until now that Helen realised that Paris was always holding back from her, as if he was hiding something from her, even in the beginning when they first met but the feeling had not been as strong then. In recent months Paris had become even more distant with her but she had ignored that, her eyes blinded in love.
The daughter of Zeus looked to those around her and she laughed inwardly at how blind she had been. She had left her child and devoted husband for a man that did not love her, and in doing so she had started a war which had shattered the lives of those around her.
"Could the woman, Oenone, not heal him?" Priam asked one of the soldiers who had taken Paris's body to Mount Ida.
The soldier was hesitant to speak but felt the glaring eyes of Priam on him and so decided to answer truthfully as the king would know if he lied. "She would not heal him, my lord."
Helen woke from her thoughts at the sound of the name Oenone. That name had haunted her mind because she now knew that Oenone was a past lover of Paris, and that she was also the mother of his son, who he had killed.
"She wouldn't heal him?" gasped Priam, horrified. "Where is she? She deserves to be killed for refusing to heal a Prince of Troy!"
"She killed herself, my lord," replied the soldier, "we found her body on our way back to Troy. It appeared that she had taken poison from a deadly plant."
"How fitting for a nymph," Helen remarked bitterly. She had heard the gossip of the servants in the palace and had learned of Oenone and Paris's brief relationship.
Priam and Hecuba looked across to Helen, shocked at her words.
"Perhaps Oenone could not heal Paris," said Hecuba angrily. "If she had been able to heal my son, then she would have."
"Of course she would," said Helen sweetly, "although I could imagine as to why she would not have wanted to help … considering Paris killed their child."
"Enough!" said Andromache and she carefully stepped down to them. She could see the hostility between Hecuba and Helen, it had been growing for years, but she could not bear to see them argue. "Paris is dead now and nothing we say or do will change that. We need to put any differences between us aside … for Paris … for Troy."
Andromache's words silenced them all and the soldiers lifted Paris's body from the wagon. They carried him to where he would be cleaned and prepared for the people of Troy, who would be allowed to look at him before the funeral rites took place.
As Hecuba walked up the stairs she stopped beside Andromache and embraced her daughter-in-law. "I wish to the gods that Hector had not been killed. He would have made a magnificent king, and you would have made a wonderful queen." She then pulled away from Andromache and supervised the preparations for Paris's rites.
It seemed too soon to be watching another prince burn on the pyre as Paris did that night. The people of Troy gathered in the courtyard where the pyre flourished in the night, and they wept for their fallen prince and for themselves. They had expected things to change, for their luck in war to change, now that Achilles was dead but everything seemed to be getting worse.
Andromache sat on her throne beside Helen, Astyanax wide awake in her arms. He pointed to the burning pyre but did not see it was his uncle that burned, to his eyes the fire only seemed like a magnificent bonfire.
"Who will be heir to the throne now?" asked Helen, turning her head slightly to look at Andromache.
"Aeneas," said Andromache, although she did not look at Helen, "he is a cousin of King Priam."
Helen nodded, her eyes now fixed on Paris's body once more. She was quiet for a few moments but then spoke: "Does it get any easier?"
"Does what?" asked Andromache, and looked to Helen curiously.
"Missing the one you love," said Helen quietly. Despite knowing that Paris did not love her, she still felt some love for him. She could not stop loving him with a click of her fingers, it was not that simple.
"No," whispered Andromache, "it never gets easier; in fact I think it gets harder." She looked down to Astyanax and stroked his head. "When I look at Astyanax I see all of the things Hector will miss and it becomes harder, because Hector's life was cut so short, as was Paris's."
Helen nodded. "I have no child from Paris to remind me of him; perhaps the pain will become easier with time."
Andromache said nothing, although she inwardly disagreed with Helen's words. She knew that now Paris was dead Helen would have no one to turn to, whereas she still had her son and Hector's family for support.
The day after King Agamemnon declared to all the armies, that fought for Greece, that they would not fight for seventeen days to honour Achilles, Odysseus had set sail for Scyros. It had been decided by the Kings of the Aegean, including himself, that they needed Neoptolemus, son of Achilles, to win the war with Troy.
Agamemnon's seer had prophesied that without Neoptolemus the war could not be won. So desperate for the war to end after ten years of it, Agamemnon immediately called a meeting and all agreed that Odysseus should collect Neoptolemus and bring him to the war.
Not only did Odysseus have to persuade Achilles's son to fight, but he was also given the task of telling Neoptolemus that his father was dead. He did not relish the thought of delivering such news, but he secretly hoped that it would enrage Neoptolemus to fight.
It took Odysseus ten days to reach his destination and when he did he wasted no time and immediately rode to the palace of Scyros where Neoptolemus lived with his mother, Princess Deidamia.
Odysseus was admitted into the palace and to the chamber of Neoptolemus as soon as he arrived. He knew that Neoptolemus would be eager for news of his father and dreaded telling him that Achilles was dead.
"Odysseus!" cried Neoptolemus happily. He was smiling eagerly, desperate for news of his father and when the war would end, but his smile soon faded when he saw the look of sadness in Odysseus's eyes.
Growing up under his mother's wing, Neoptolemus had rarely seen his father and whenever he did he always felt as if he had something to prove. Achilles was a renowned warrior, a man with god-like strength, whereas he was just the son of that man.
"Have you come to bring news of my father?" asked Neoptolemus, his dark, golden hair caressing his strong chin. He looked at Odysseus anxiously as he waited for an answer, his heart beat quickening.
"Yes," replied Odysseus quietly, "and I am afraid to report that your father is dead." He had not known had to word his answer but as he looked at Neoptolemus he wished he had not been so blunt.
"My father is dead?" asked Neoptolemus, his voice shaking slightly. His brown eyes were widened with shock and sadness. He did not believe that it was possible for his father, the great warrior Achilles, to have died; it was almost as if he could not die.
"Yes," said Odysseus, his voice even lower. "Your father was killed in Troy, by Prince Paris."
"Paris?" spat Neoptolemus incredulously. He had heard of the weak Prince Paris, the prince who did not fight but instead spent his time bedding any woman he pleased. "How could he have defeated my father? My father is Achilles!"
Seeing little of his father as he grew, Neoptolemus had created his own version of his father, creating him to be a magnificent man that did not exist. He thought his version of Achilles was undefeatable, and thought Achilles to be a man of compassion and worth. He did not know that his had father cared or thought little of him, and choose to remember his father in the way that he had created.
The door to Neoptolemus's chamber opened suddenly and Deidamia, glowing in a pale gold robe with her brown locks tumbling down her back, entered the room. She had heard the news from her servants that King Odysseus of Ithaca had come and wished to see him immediately, hoping that he brought news of Achilles.
"King Odysseus," greeted Deidamia pleasantly and allowed him to kiss her fair hand. She smiled kindly and then stepped over to her son and stood beside him.
"Have you brought word of Achilles?" asked Deidamia, hopefully. She then saw the look of shock in her son's eyes and knew that Odysseus brought ill news.
"Father is dead," said Neoptolemus quietly, his voice slightly bitter. He then glared at Odysseus, almost as if he thought it was him who had ended his father's life.
"What? That cannot be possible," said Deidamia and laughed weakly.
"I am afraid that it is, my lady." Odysseus said sadly.
Deidamia shook her head slightly in denial. She looked at Odysseus and knew he spoke the truth, there was no lie in his voice, but it still astounded her that Achilles was dead.
For a few moments there was silence in the chamber, until Deidamia raised her head and looked to Odysseus suspiciously.
"You could have sent word of Achilles's death by an envoy," said Deidamia and continued to stare at Odysseus, "why did you come personally, have you other business to attend to in Scyros, other motives?" She had lived in the company of kings and warriors her whole life, she knew how they worked and knew there was more to Odysseus coming than to bring them news of Achilles's death.
Odysseus smiled inwardly, he had always known Deidamia was a smart woman and knew she would be able to see through to his true motive to coming to Scyros. "You are right Deidamia, I could have sent an envoy but I chose to come here in person."
Deidamia glared at Odysseus angrily and stepped closer to him. "Have you come to persuade my son to join the war?"
Neoptolemus looked at his mother and then to Odysseus, curious as to how the king would answer. He always knew of his mother's fears of him joining the war and remembered how she had persuaded him to not join the fight ten years ago.
"Yes," answered Odysseus truthfully, knowing it was better to speak the truth than to lie.
"I had thought so," said Deidamia and stepped back beside her son. Her eyes were narrowed in anger and she stood by her son protectively, determined no one would take him away from her.
"You want me to join the war?" asked Neoptolemus, slightly honoured. He had dreamt of joining the war and fighting alongside his father, but that was all he thought it was, a dream.
"Only if you wish to," said Odysseus, hiding his satisfaction because he knew Neoptolemus was already considering the prospect of joining the war.
"You are not going to join the war, Neoptolemus!" said Deidamia angrily. She knew of Odysseus's tricks, and knew that he would use every one he could to lure her son into the war.
"Mother," said Neoptolemus, almost warningly. He had grown tired of her constant attention to him; he was a man now and did not appreciate being treated like a child.
"Do you want to die like your father?" asked Deidamia and she turned her head to face her son. It was then that she saw the sudden glint in his eyes, the desire for war she had once seen in Achilles's eyes.
"We were all born to die, mother," said Neoptolemus, his voice cold and annoyed.
Deidamia looked at her son, horrified. In a few minutes he had changed from being her loving and devoted son, to changing into his father who would leave in an instant if war beckoned him to fight. She backed away from her son and quietly left the chamber, unable to look at him for much longer.
A/N: There are some sources that claim Oenone committed suicide by leaping onto Paris's pyre and burning alive … I wasn't too keen on that idea and so I've decided to go with the way I have. Either way, Oenone did commit suicide after Paris's death and I've kept to that. Also, thank you for all of the reviews :)
Kitera – Thank you for reviewing both chapter 58 & 59 :) I'm sorry but Paris does die, as you will have seen in this. I'm sorry but it's a central part to the plot. I'm glad you loved the last chapters, thank you!
Lily – I agree, I don't think I could have lived amidst all of the tragedy and heartache back then. I'm afraid that Paris does die, as you will have seen in this, and I'm sorry that I killed him. Thank you for the review :)
Caz-jket –Congrats on getting an account, are you going to write fanfic here :) I feel bad for Oenone too, she went through a lot. I'm glad that you like this fic, thank you! Thank you for the review too.
Priestess of the Myrmidon – I'm glad you're happy that Paris dies ;) Oenone does refuse to heal Paris and I can't blame her after what he did. I'm glad you liked the last chapter, and thank you for the review :)
Mel – I'm glad that you're continuing to like this, thank you and thank you for the review :) Helen has not been the nicest of characters so I can understand your dislike of her, I'm sure there are more that do and will share your thoughts after this is finished.
Coz – Thank you, I'm glad that you like this enough that you would watch it if it was a movie :) I'm also glad that you like this fic, and I will definitely keep going until the end. Thank you for the review!
Gaby – I'm sorry that I killed Paris, but I had to in order to stick with the plot that I have planned. I'm glad you liked the last chapter, thanks! And thank you for the review too :)
meistiwong36 – I'm still not exactly sure on how many chapters are left in this, although I think, at the most, it will be five but that could change. I'm glad that you continue to like this and I can understand that you're happy about Paris dying ;) Thank you for the review :)