Helen walked slowly away from the sleeping body of Briseis. The golden-haired woman had a weary expression on her face and blood on her hands. She knelt beside a bucket of water and began to scrub at the hands and arms.
Andromache, holding Astyanax tightly in her arms, sat beside Briseis. The young woman was sleeping with a strangely peaceful expression on her face after the pain and horror of the last twenty-four hours. Andromache shifted the sleeping baby to her hip and pulled the blankets up around Briseis' shoulders.
Helen heard Paris come up behind her as she scrubbed at the dried blood on her arms, but she did not look around. He stood still, looking down at his lover, and drowning in the pain he had caused.
Helen stood up, and made as if to go, ignoring him, but he put an arm out to stop her. Helen tried to take no notice of him, but his touch on her arm, as ever, sent a thrill down her spine, and against her wishes she turned to face him, her face a mask of pain that she could still love him after everything they had been through.
"Helen please," Paris pleaded with her.
Helen lifted her beautiful head and met his eyes. She held his gaze for a moment, showing no mercy as she probed deep into his emotions. Finally she sighed and looked down, she had found what she had looked for, and it hurt her.
"Helen," Paris begged once more, and Helen felt a tear gather in one corner of her eye.
"Well you got what you wanted," she said quietly, although her voice lacked the feeling to make the words hurt him.
They still stung, and Paris lowered his face momentarily.
"I never meant…" he began, and tailed off miserably. They stood in silence for a moment, neither looking at the other. "Will she be alright?" Paris finally asked.
Helen shook her head slowly. "I don't know. I honestly don't know. Andromache says that the only thing she was holding on to was the child. I found her trying to kill herself a few weeks ago."
She looked up, and the pain and guilt in Paris' face did nothing to stir the sick feeling in the bottom of her gut at having to deliver a dead child.
"You better start praying, Paris," she said, turning away from him. "Pray that you will one day be forgiven."
"By Briseis?" Paris asked.
"By all of us," Helen's voice was harsh as she turned away from him and walked slowly over to the pathetic shapes of Andromache and Briseis.
A/N: Thanks for all your reviews: butterfly389 – am trying to make Paris seem a bit nicer: I loathe the man so sorry if I'm a bit harsh. Another meeting with Achilles is on the way – I'm approaching the end, maybe only one more chapter left, or two short ones…anyway, please, please R&R when it's finished, and I'm still happy to carry on revising it if you have any suggestions!