-Lots of love to Gayle Carling and other 'defenders' I don't know of for the little incident with Fanfiction's Antichrist. I seriously do not deserve you. I'm honored that you would even consider defending me as you have. My heartfelt thanks goes out to you.-

My Immortal
By BluWine

Chapter 21: This Pain Is Just Too Real

Menelaus and Agamemnon sulked in the privacy of their extravagant tent. It had been years since the death of Hector. They thought that his death would have been a pivotal moment of the war. There would be no more of these stalemate battles. The Greeks would finally fight the fight that would win them the ultimate triumph but, alas, they had underestimated the younger Prince.

Paris was taking on the responsibilities that had once burdened the former heir. With a new sense of conviction and purpose, Paris was leading on the battles of the Great War with exceptional skill. Where his prowess concerning strength and fighting skill lacked, his underscored and sometimes foolish courage and determination to right some of his past wrongs more than made up for it. The royal Greek siblings were not at all happy with this new development.

"Who knew the brat actually had it in him?" Menelaus snapped, throwing his wine bottle to the side. It was empty; his third for the day and it was only just past noon.

"Give credit where it's due. The boy did outsmart you eight years ago," Agamemnon shrugged, not particularly caring about Paris and Helen. He was more concerned about his agenda not being met. Agamemnon expected to have Troy within a few months but eight years in, there was nothing new in his grasp. The Dardanelles, the most precious strait of water in the Mediterranean was still under Trojan control.

"That prince, pitiful excuse for a prince, is actually succeeding in keeping us at bay! That bloody Achilles is turning more into a soft kitten than the warrior he once was! This war is not turning out as we planned," Menelaus growled.

"Nothing ever goes according to plan, brother," Agamemnon rolled his eyes. "You'd be stupid to think so."

"Well then, your brother is stupid!" Menelaus stalked to his seat and collapsed into it. "A city, one city when you have taken kingdoms and empires, just one city eludes you."

"Troy has been undefeated in the past. Those so-called empires were mere whispers of what Troy is. You know this. We've spoken of this before yet you refuse to believe me. This city is better called a fort. It shall not break with mere attacks. Persistence is necessary. Leaving when we are near triumph would be stupid as well."

"What triumph! We are no closer to anything tangibly near triumph than the day we first stepped onto this shore!"

"Your highness!" A messenger fell into the tent a piece of paper in his hands.

"What?" Agamemnon said without as much as looking up from the reports from his captains that he was reading in disdain.

"A message came from Troy." The messenger held out the piece of paper still rolled into its scroll. Agamemnon raised an eyebrow and snatched the scroll away.

"You are dismissed," Agamemnon said, distracted. He began to read the message and Menelaus saw the growing smile on his brother's face.

"What is it?" Menelaus stood up from his chair and walked to Agamemnon, wanting to know what was causing that satisfied, smug face.

"I believe this letter should be addressed to you," Agamemnon grinned, handing the letter over.

Menelaus took the scroll and as his eyes read the words, he realized what it was and shared in Agamemnon's train of thought.

"This… this is…" Menelaus laughed.

"This is our way to triumph," Agamemnon smiled.

"You sent the letter?" Helen murmured, walking into Paris' study. The sun still brightly shining that day though it was quite chilly. The rays were shining down against Paris' back but the season was coaxing him to sit by the burning fireplace.

"Yes," Paris answered. He looked up at his wife and wondered at how they could stay civil to each other. Their attraction had died a long time ago. They still shared the same bed for a reason that escaped both of their logic but they rarely made contact with the other. There was no more than just a natural care for each other. Paris didn't care for Helen's indiscretions. She didn't care about his but, strangely enough, Paris didn't take any lovers while Helen had many. The look in Helen's eyes in the study right then still proved, however, that she cared for this man. Something about starting a war for her created a bond she couldn't sever.

"When will the challenge take place?"

"If all goes well, tomorrow afternoon."

"He will kill you," Helen said simply sitting at the chair in front of Paris'.

"No, he won't." Paris looked down at his hands.

"Menelaus will rip you apart with his hands," she declared.

"He won't," Paris shrugged, looking into the flames for calm but the wild tongues did nothing but incite him.

"Fine! Say, by some intervention of the gods, you do kill Menelaus," Helen said. "How would you know that Agamemnon would not then take up a sword and come after you or Achilles or some other random Greek?"

"They have honor."

"You do not know Agamemnon," she spat out. "That man has no honor! He knows nothing of the word! In all my years married to his brother, I've gathered as much."

"That's the first time you've even implied that you were ever married to Menelaus," Paris commented after a moment's pause.

"What?" Helen frowned as she looked up at Paris. He was now looking at her, his eyes looking back at her own stare.

"You've never mentioned being married to Menelaus before, never in my presence, anyway. Why not?"

"What do you mean?" Helen asked genuinely confused.

"Did it make you less guilty if you never mentioned the man you left behind?" Paris continued, ignoring Helen's confusion.

"Paris, I have no idea what you mean by that."

"I think you do." Paris stood up and frowned at his wife. "Did you ever really love me?"

"Did you ever really love me?" Helen shot back, standing up to meet Paris in the eye. She wasn't quite as tall but the effect was the same as she would have liked.

"I started a war for you! How could you even ask that? Of course, I loved you!" Paris snapped.

"No," Helen shook her head and walked to the fireplace where a golden rose decorated the mantle. "Remember that first night we spent together here in Troy?"

"Vaguely." It was now Paris' turn to be slightly confused. Helen caressed the golden rose and put it in her hand, holding it up for Paris to see.

"I was to you as this rose was to Hector. I remember him telling the story about him getting this from a tribe from the south that threatened a smaller weaker one. He defended the weak tribe and received this," she explained. "I understood it the moment you said it was my beauty that made you risk everything. Like this rose was to Hector, I was merely a beautiful trophy and one you intended to keep."

"That's not true and you know it," Paris cried out, indignantly. "I did love you."

"If you truly loved me, then why did it fade away? You wouldn't have succumbed to Katri's temptations. You wouldn't have fallen into each and every one of Acacius' traps to make you jealous. You wouldn't have stayed vigil in her room for a month after the night you slept with her. If you truly loved me, we wouldn't be so damn afraid to touch each other!" Helen yelled. "You saw me just as Menelaus and Agamemnon saw me. The difference was you just treated me better!"

"Think what you want," Paris sneered. "I did love you. As for treating you better, you were treated like the queen that you were in Sparta. You were probably treated better there than you are here! You were the one that didn't see me anymore than a lovesick boy who would have done anything for you! I remember the first night now. I remember you denying me, acting like you were done with me now that you got into Troy!"

"Fine! Lie to yourself! The only reason that I never mentioned Menelaus was because I was happy here! I loved you because you treated me like I was a person and not a thing for awhile. Then this stupid war happened!" She threw the delicate rose into the fireplace angrily, watching it shatter into countless pieces into the fire. "Then suddenly, Katriana moved down the hall and I didn't exist anymore! You only paid attention to that little orphan bitch-in-heat, attracting every virile male in the city!" Paris froze and Helen stode to the window and pointed down to where Katriana was walking with Acacius. "Look at her! With connections to Acacius, she's probably whored herself out to half the palace guards if not more!"

Paris' perspective of Helen distorted the moment she said her insults. He wanted to hit her. He actually wanted to strike his wife. Never before had he felt that surge but he quickly turned back to the fire, his back to Helen. He gritted his teeth and clenched his hands not wanting to do anything rash. Paris thought about Maia and he remembered the abuse she rescued him from. He would never reach that low level that was inhabited by Rauko and Ceorl. He would never strike someone in such a manner.

Even when he felt that the woman deserved it for spewing out such blasphemies.

"Why is it that every time you feel like there is a problem between the two of us, you must attack the one person I hold dear and will most likely defend against you? Don't you realize that it will only rip us apart more each time you find yourself fit to insult Katriana?" Paris said, gritting his teeth. "Especially with that insult. It's a step into hypocrisy to accuse her of such when you yourself have slept with men from a variety of ranks all over the palace."

"I only draw heat from the fires you've made, Alexander," Helen spat out as if the name was revolting and vulgar.

"I'll be sleeping in here tonight," Paris growled. Helen's chest was heaving with anger and just watched as Paris slowly turned back to her. "You may keep the chambers as yours exclusively from now on. I'll move my belongings into another chamber starting this afternoon. And, lastly?" Paris took a step forward. It seemed he was ready to release his anger but he stepped back again, trying to force the sensation out of his veins. "Only one person is honored enough to call me Alexander. That person is, obviously, not you." With that, he walked out, his eyes still dark with fury.

The next afternoon came. Sun was shining yet again, but the cold wind was biting. Everyone had heard of Paris' challenge to Menelaus: a fight to the death to declare the victor of the war. Many wore their mourning black, remembering the last time a Trojan had challenged an Achaean in battle. Last time did not end well. This time, they hoped, would be more favorable in its ending.

The royal family, the lords and ladies of the house and their guards stood on the same balcony over the main gates of Troy that they ran to five years before when they heard that a Trojan woman was being held by Achilles' knife. They were, for the most part, holding the same bated breath as the next Trojan prince was going out to meet the enemy, this time in a challenge provided by their own side of the battle.

The horizon was lined with the Greek soldiers. Their numbers were unfathomable even after eight years of death. It seemed like they were multiplying all on their own. The leaders were in a line just ahead of their warriors; Menelaus, Odysseus, Achilles and Agamemnon were only four of those that led their armies to watch what could be the last battle of the war.

Menelaus rode ahead stopping a few hundred yards in front of the Trojan lines. Troy had its own defense, just in case Menelaus felt it proper to incorporate foul play into the deal. Menelaus didn't care. Agamemnon might have failed in taking one city but this one boy would not escape. Menelaus knew of no better way to win this war than to be one to kill this stupid boy. It was bad enough that he was humiliated, duped for all of the Mediterranean world to see but to be beat by a 24-year-old weakling who hasn't even begun to reach the pinnacle of his fighting ability would be unforgiveable. Menelaus intended to win. Loss was not an option in this battle. The man watched Paris exit the gates and his soldiers parted so that his horse could trot up to meet Menelaus.

"Menelaus of the House of Atreus, I'm glad you've decided to join me this afternoon," Paris grinned, knowing that the mention of his family would serve as an opening insult. Everyone knew that the family was cursed, every generation making some horrible decision that would estrange their relationship with the gods.

"You can go ahead and try me with your insults but it won't stall your death," Menelaus scoffed. "I would indulge you if I had the time but this war's end was eight years in the making. I don't want my men to suffer their time here any longer."

"I concur," Paris smiled. "I'd like them to return to their homes as soon as possible as well as my own people."

"Ah, but you continue to stall."

"If you feel so eager to finish off then why don't you just retreat? It can save us so much time."

Menelaus narrowed his eyes and ignored the consecutive insults. "A fight to death," he went on. "Nothing out of the ordinary, as challenges go, but this one is to end the war, understand?"

"Of course," Paris nodded. "No interference from outside parties, I assume?" Menelaus nodded. "All right, then get on our armor. We fight."

Their horses trotted off to their respective sides and met with the one with their weapons, helmets and such. Paris got off his horse and saw Acacius standing there with a spear and helmet.

"Where's Keuthin?" Paris asked, taking the chest plates and slipping them on.

"He's in the ranks. I promised Katri that I'd make an attempt to talk you out of this before you actually went," Acacius replied. Paris remained silent and put on his arm and shin guards, listening to the soldier. "She knew that I wouldn't be successful but that I would try anyway."

"Is Katri watching?" Paris asked.

"She said she wouldn't but you and I both know that she's in that crowd somewhere, probably with Astyanax."

For the slightest of moments, Paris felt his determination falter as he thought about Astyanax, the boy who lost a father to the same duel some small years ago. He looked up at Acacius, meeting his eyes as he grabbed his helmet.

"If I die, fighting will erupt." Acacius nodded, knowingly. "I don't want you to fight. I want you to rush Katri and everyone else to the tunnels. Once they're safely there, then you have the choice to return to the lines but make sure that they're safe, all right?"

"Yes, your majesty," Acacius replied, handing the prince his spear and sword.

Acacius stood back and watched as Paris walked off into the distance and met Menelaus on the sand. His hand tightened around his own spear and he bit his lip. The fight started with a brief nod from one to the other. The Prince and King fighting over a woman, it was almost reminiscent of the romantic tales that mother told their daughters.

Acacius closed his eyes and just listened to the faint and distant shuffle of feet. The sand was coarse and each step the fighters took crackled in the air and the wind brought it to the onlookers' ears. Acacius, though he was a seasoned fighter, didn't want to watch. The memories of that all too familiar fight from years back was playing back on the desert. He also knew that he didn't want to see Paris die. Paris would lose, without a doubt. Had Acacius known about this challenge before the letter was sent, he would have killed the messenger himself. Paris wasn't strong enough. He didn't have the cunning and grace on the battlefield that Hector was blessed with. Acacius didn't want to see another prince die.

Each clang of metal against metal made Acacius flinch. He wondered which resonance would be the last. He wished he knew which would be the fatal blow. Every time a strike was made, a silence followed. Acacius thought that each silence was longer than the last but still broken by another crackle of a footstep on the sand.

There was no real way to see the fight anymore, either. By the time Acacius opened his eyes slightly, a cover of dust made it hard to view either Paris or Menelaus. It was only the brief moments that their armor would catch the sunlight did anyone really have some form of reassurance that their fighters continued their battle. No one knew what was being spoken in that thickening dust. They assumed insults were being thrown. Both sides assumed that their side was winning. In the midst of the clashing weapons and the footsteps, there would be an occasional grunt or a pained cry. No one knew what was truly going on.

The dust was thickening to unnatural proportions. It was almost a duststorm was in the making but there was strangely no wind. The yellow and white silt was floating everywhere in the air and it was beginning to cover the armies. The city and its populace covered their faces with cloth. A murmur started in wonder of the this strange haze.

Suddenly, a cry was heard.

"Aphrodite!"

It was the prince. Everyone recognized that higher tone of voice. A bright trail of light shot from the center of the miasma and into the city of Troy. When the light receded, the dust was perfectly gone. Everyone looked at each other, bewildered. Then they looked towards where the battle was. Only Menelaus stood. The eyes looked to the ground. Only blood stained the light dirt.

"Treachery!" Menelaus screamed. "Where is the prince!"

No one moved. No one said a word. No one knew what to say. The blood was evidence enough that the prince was hurt but where he was, no one knew.

"What is this illusion you trick me with, Troy!" he screamed into the air.

The crowd of people murmured to themselves. Whatever trick it was, Troy was tricked as well. Menelaus, humiliated and duped, backed into his soldiers and screamed and order of attack. Both armies took it as a command and the clash of weapons was heard again, this time in a much louder volume.

On the bed in the study of the prince lay Paris, his side bleeding onto the carpet. Beside him, Aphrodite, the blond goddess of beauty and love, frowned and touched Paris' wound.

"You really are quite lucky, aren't you, Paris?" Aphrodite murmured. She looked at his face and saw that Paris had slipped unconscious from the pain. "Katri is favored and doted upon by the gods, and to have her praying for your every hurt and scratch?" Her hand covered the incision and it healed not entirely but to a more treateable severity. "It makes me wonder if she'll ever let you die."

Footsteps was echoing through the corridors outside of the room and Aphrodite stood back. Her presence began to shimmer away into pinprick lights until she was all but an effervescent glow that was disappearing just as people looked into the room and found the wounded Prince Paris.

Back in the city, Katriana hid in the midst of the people on the walls, watched the battle as it played out and merely blinked at the way it ended. As the battle of the armies began, she walked off among the townspeople and listened to what they said.

I knew that the Prince wouldn't survive.

"So did I," Katri though solemnly before continuing on, listening to the words of the actual people of Troy.

Years pass…

There is no more food.

It's dwindling.

Water is low.

Are the gods even with us anymore?

The walls are impenetrable.

The armies are unbeatable.

You wait and wait.

But aren't there any more dates?

Coins, I beg you. Coins for the poor.

What a waste! The prince.

How much longer?

Send Helen off!

Get gone, I tell you! Nasty little children.

Do you have any meat?

The traders are long gone.

No longer the most beautiful woman.

The sad girl at the window, she's always looking at the battles.

Is it getting drier here?

Helen.

Persistent little buggers!

Time continues to slip away…

Just kill them in their sleep!

The poor little prince, so sad he's an orphan.

The King needs to surrender.

Cloth! I need cloth!

Purple is such a repulsive coloring.

She's sicker than she seems.

How much longer can this last?

Keep it! It's yours.

None of your business.

What's your name?

Don't blame the child!

Rebellion! Against this war!

And start another? I think not!

Remember when the birds used to fly?

Mummy, I want to see outside the gates.

Peace. Soon.

How can you think that?

Battle after battle, hasn't everyone died already?

Revenge is that much more sweeter.

The sad girl at the window is a ghost!

I want to get married.

The world is out of their mind.

Please let it be!

Everything is just so much harder.

Everything is so much more difficult.

Years pass away…

Why does it take so long?

The sad girl at the window, never smiling, always crying.

Can't you just jump the walls?

Let's run.

Mount Ida isn't too far.

Idiot!

We'd never make it!

Is it that hard?

The sad girl at the window, is she that woman at the docks before the war?

Wait!

This is stupid.

The children are starving.

There's so little water.

Prince Paris will win this some way.

What?

That Helen isn't pregnant yet?

Rumors.

Astyanax is growing so handsomely.

Are they gone?

Andromache has stopped raising him

The fleet.

At the docks, staring after the royal ships, then disappeared. It's her.

Disappeared!

Come again?

The Greeks….

Are they gone?

It might be.

The beaches are clear.

Only the remnants of their fires remain.

They're hiding! Don't go out there!

They're GONE!

I tell you, it's a trick!

Shut up, you old hag.

A horse

A tribute?

It is ours?

No one else is claiming it…

Is it true?

Is it over?

After ten years…

Can this actually be true?

AN- The regular Review Responses are cut this chapter. Next chapter, everyone. Review and tell me what needs work and work on it, I shall.