AN—Gaah! Only the chorus of the song is left! The end looms closer and closer over my head! But hey… at least, I updated right? Hehehe.

Chapter 22: There's Just Too Much That Time Cannot Erase

"What is this?" Paris asked, his hand trailing against the panels of rotting wood.

"A tribute, I'd say, my child. To the victors of the Great War!" Priam never looked so happy and yet so sad at the same time. The victory was sweet but the cost was so much. Paris knew without saying that it was Hector that drew the sadness over Priam's eyes.

"I do not like it. Burn it to the ground, Father," Paris murmured, putting a hand against the wood.

"This is our gift! We do not burn gifts," Priam huffed.

Paris shook his head. Was the war truly over? It's been ten years. This ending was anti-climactic, to say the least. He was expecting some great battle that would end with Achilles' death. Maybe Odysseus' or Menelaus' or even Agamemnon's death could have marked the end of the war. He'd imagined various conclusions but none included a horse and all included a battle

"Is it done? Is it really over?" Katriana asked emerging from the crowds. Her eyes looked up at the great wooden horse, in wonder. Paris looked at her and a sense of… Well, he really didn't know what he felt actually, but all of a sudden, with the closing of the Great War, his mind was becoming nostalgic, remembering what people were like before the war and what they've become now.

Katri was standing there, looking up at the wooden horse and with her, Astyanax. Learning to speak various languages fluently, training to be a warrior, a diplomat and scholar, and growing up with the perfect semblance of his father, Astyanax was becoming a son to be proud of but his mother had become a recluse after his father's death. The day Hector died, Astyanax lost both his parents but Katri cared for him like he was her own child, always there for him for every up and down his childhood threw him in. In a way, Katri had become a mother for Astyanax's sake.

"Katri," Paris called, acknowledging her presence.

"Paris," she smiled before looking up at the horse again. Paris had his own grim smile. Seven years before, at Hector's funeral, Katri ceased to call Paris by the name she had known him by for twelve years. He never heard the name 'Alexander' from her lips again, unless it was in his memory or dreams. That was a change that he wished had never come to pass.

Katri had grown even more beautiful than before, Paris noticed, however. Her brown eyes had gone lighter, her hair darker. Her skin was just as beautiful as before. Her face had carved itself out to be something that didn't seem to fit in the mortal world but on a level very near that of Helen's. She didn't have that ethereal glow that his wife had but, Paris had to admit, his eyes going up and down Katri's body, she had become so much more beautiful and sad as well.

Katri never married. She had taken to Acacius but both knew that nothing serious would ever come out of it. In turn, she had no children except for her post as surrogate mother to Astyanax. Something wizened her eyes and furrowed her brow when no one but Paris looked. It was as if the weight of the world was on her shoulders sometimes. He heard her talking to the voices in her head, and if he hadn't known that she did that when she was worried or upset, he would have thought her insane but it was only her way of dealing with her problems. Paris wished she would confide in him as she used to but it was just as she said; it wasn't the same as before.

Helen was coming now. She was parting the crowds with her usual parade of guards and she was standing before him now looking, like everyone else was, to the top of this great wooden horse made of the decaying wood of ships. Paris noticed that Helen changed the slightest in all of those he'd known. His mother and father had begun to surrender to age. Astyanax was blossoming, as was Katriana. Paris would have liked to think that he was getting better with age. Helen was almost a constant in time. Her face had aged but never creased. Her blue eyes were the same, her lips still full and tempting. Her blond hair was still flawless. Helen's demeanor was just as immortal as it was when he first set eyes on her on Sparta. Along with beauty, the gods seemed to bless Helen with youth as well.

"So it's true then," Helen said. "The Greeks have left."

"It would seem like it," Paris replied. Acacius was riding in from the beaches to the walls where the city was gathering to look at the wooden horse. In his military face, Paris addressed Acacius. "What have you to report?"

"The beaches are clear, your highness. Only the remnants of fires and some tents and weaponry were left behind. I've only scouted the south ports, however. I suggest we send a lookout to the western and northern coasts just to make sure," Acacius answered. He came off his horse and looked towards Katri who smiled in return. Then, he returned his attention to his superior. "If you wish, I'll make the scouting trip myself."

"It's alright. You've pulled your weight all night. Send Keuthin to the coasts," Paris said.

"Yes, sir," Acacius slightly nodded in acknowledgement. He turned back to Katriana and grinned. "Katri."

"Acacius," she grinned in return, throwing her arms around his neck joyously. "It's over. They're gone."

"Don't be too sure yet," Acacius warned.

"Oh, don't be such a killjoy," Katri rolled her eyes. "Even for the briefest of moments, even if this isn't real, let the people have their moment, you know? It's not all their life that they get this colossal a relief. Here you are trying to ruin it." Her spirits were greatly raised and she couldn't help but feel happier than she'd been in a long time. Her mind just couldn't or didn't want to fathom the possibilities that this victory might not yet be real.

"He's right, Aunt Katri," Astyanax said in a tone much too old for his years. "We can't be too sure. There were times that we used the same tactics; feigning surrender when we were truly laying a trap for our enemies."

"You two have read too many war strategy books," Katri waved her hand away. She tapped Astyanax playfully on the head. "And his highness needs to work on being a child for once. For all your intelligence, you lack the blunt and eerily correct commonsense of a child." Katri was smiling down at Astyanax who knew that his 'aunt' was only teasing. "Learn to appreciate things. Stop analyzing so much lest you forget that people are still people. Maybe the men just became tired of the war and realized that neither would win. Maybe they just missed their families too much. Maybe anything!"

"You do realize that in this world your theories sound extremely naïve?" Acacius said, eyebrows raised.

"And you do realize that you're extremely cynical and pessimistic and it's badly influencing my nephew?" Katri retorted clamping her hands over Astyanax's ears.

"Aunt Katri!" Astyanax groaned, peeling her hands off his head.

"Ha! That's what I like to hear! Whining! You must still be a ten-year-old, then?" Katri laughed.

Paris watched the banter and laughter being tossed back and forth between the three and realized that all around him, people were beginning to have the same attitude. No one wanted to think about any pessimistic possibilities and Keuthin was sent to the coasts not even as a precaution but as protocol.

As the day wore on, everyone in the city began to step out of its walls. A murmur of hopeful whisperings was spreading like wild fire. They were stepping out to the beaches, feeling the waters that washed away the blood of fallen soldiers from its sands. Broken splinters remained of hastily torn-down tents and fires but no man remained on the land, outside of Trojans. Paris was beginning to feel the burden lift, entertaining the hope that this was no trick so he plopped down on the sand with his arms resting on his knees. A subtle smile graced his face as he closed his eyes, bowing his head, as he prayed to the gods that it was all true.

"You really think they might be gone?" a voice said from behind Paris.

Paris knew that voice but its tone was alien. Its sense of familiarity had been gone from him for so long that he wondered if he was dreaming until he felt the sands move to mold against Katri's sitting figure beside him. Paris remained quiet, his eyes widened slightly at this surprise presence. Katri bit her lip, then continued on when she realized that Paris wasn't answering.

"Am I really naïve for believing that this might be true? The voices in my head are strangely quiet. They won't answer my questions and you're sort of my last resort for reassurance."

Silence continued and Katri was beginning to think that maybe she shouldn't have asked for Paris' counsel. After eight years of detachment from him, she didn't really expect much but she wished he had answered with a simple nod or shake of the head.

"I… I'm sorry to have bothered you then," Katri murmured, grunting as she put her weight on one arm to stand up but Paris caught her hand.

"No," Paris replied softly. "I didn't mean to react that way. Please. Stay. Sit." Katri considered it and obliged with a smile. "You're not naïve. You're just optimistic. After ten years, you and the rest of the city are open to any optimistic notions."

"Do you think they're gone?"

"I sure hope so. I don't think the city can take another false hope."

"I hope so too." Awkward silences used to never be a part of their interaction but then again, trying to build the crudest of bridges over a gaping rift and roaring troubled waters was difficult. A few awkward moments were expected.

"There will be a celebration tonight, I guess," Paris murmured. His eyes were fixed at the glare of the sun on the water. It was starting to make him tear up but he couldn't seem to force himself to look back at Katri. "Mother and Father will outdo themselves no doubt but who could blame them?" He heard himself chuckle. "You'll be attending, of course?"

"Everyone will be. The party will spill over into the streets," Katri shrugged. Is this small talk? Gods, this is awkward. Silence continued on yet again and Katri was about to hang her head in exasperation. She didn't expect talking to Paris to EVER become like… THIS!

"Can two people be as uncomfortable with each other as we are now?" Paris grinned, feeling what Katri was thinking through the way shifted every so often.

"Nope. I don't think so," Katri laughed. "Definitely not though I do believe we're starting to progress if we start bantering soon."

"This isn't banter?" Paris raised his eyebrow playfully at her.

"Oh, hardly. Banter is much more sarcastic, playful and with a hint of mischief."

"Sarcasm? I can do sarcasm."

"Moreover, banter usually has much sexual connotations which is inappropriate for a woman like myself to even have any knowledge about, much less take part of in public," Katri explained. Paris turned away again and Katri frowned. "What? What'd I say?"

"Nothing," Paris mumbled.

"Don't say 'nothing'," Katri rolled her eyes. "I still know that nothing means something. I thought we were breaking the tension. I thought the banter could brea…"

"Can we skip this?" Paris asked abruptly.

"W—What?" Katri stuttered.

"The small talk which I'm horrible at, the banter which, after seven years of pondering everything that's happened between me and you, I've realized ALWAYS leads to flirting and problem-incurring situations, and everything! Can we skip everything awkward and excessive? Can we go somewhere, talk, and get back something that I've really wanted back since I lost it?" Paris pleaded.

"It's not that easy, love," Katri smiled sympathetically but shaking her head. She put her hand on his and recoiled immediately as she touched it and Paris groaned at the complications which he thought the passage of time had weakened. He guessed not. "It's never that easy."

"Come with me."

"Last time you said that we didn't speak for a really long spell," Katri quipped.

"Don't joke, Katri, and we'll go to the library. No one will bother us there," Paris said, standing up and holding out a hand to help her up. Katri looked around, as if for a way out but she didn't see any. Maybe she didn't really want one either. She wanted Paris back. She missed him and she realized that after ten years, maybe she was mature enough to accept that she'll never have him the way she wanted him. Maybe she'll be mature enough to be content that she has him as she needs him, at least, and that's as a friend.

"Let's go then," she replied, taking his hand and going on to the library.

Briseis was at the old Apollo temple. She hadn't been there since the beginning of the war when she was first taken. There were two times in which she had the opportunity. There had been two Olympics that had passed since the beginning of the war but she never felt the courage to go inside. Well, it wasn't quite courage that made her fear entrance. It was shame. She remembered her oaths, her promises to Apollo to be His holy vessel, a virgin and pure of unsanctified touch. Within months, she had fallen in love and given her body, heart and soul to a man.

"Apollo, guiding light, ever-knowing sight," Briseis whispered into the stone halls. They were once beautiful, ornate and ceremonial. Now, they were mere shadows of their former selves, destroyed by the same men that had caused the havoc on her city.

Some oil remained. Broken incense sticks littered the floor. She had her lamp, taken from the palace. She knew it would be dark and the fire would be useful in what she was about to do:

Ask for forgiveness.

Briseis held back her tears. She didn't want to cry but she was losing that battle, furiously. Her bitterness was making her taste an acrid flavor in her mouth. The sudden leave of the Greeks was a victory for her city. She should have been ecstatic but she wasn't. She knew she was being stupid but she didn't want it to end that way. Briseis didn't want him to end that way. Now, she truly meant to dedicate her life only to the gods.

"Music to the ears of the city, blessing of the arts, superior of the Muses, inspiration," she continued. She lit the longest incense sticks she could find and stepped to the altar with bare feet. "Return is what I ask. Redemption is what I need. My sins are known. I know of what I speak but, Apollo, my god, I ask for forgiveness of the unforgiveable."

Briseis lifted her hand and attempted to light the fires of the altar. Unholy ashes filled the goblet in which the priests used to burn the incense in prayer and meditation. Briseis hoped to let it burn once again but the wind blew her gusts and the incense stick blew out. She wasn't quite up to snuff with omens but Briseis realized what this meant.

Her shoulders slumped down, sadly. Her head bowed in shame. She wanted to curl into a ball and cry. More importantly, she wanted Achilles to come back and sweep her off her feet to carry her away from this place that no longer wanted her but she realized even more sadly that if he had left, then he must no longer want her either.

"Mother?" Astyanax called from the door.

"Come inside, love," Andromache smiled from her bed. Astyanax walked in and saw his mother. She was a mere shadow of the woman that she once was but unfathomable grief and sorrow could do that to someone. "You must tell me the latest news of what's going on, my love." She opened her arms and Astyanax crawled back into the bed next to her.

"The Greeks left, Mother," Astyanax whispered. It was only in this room did he let his vulnerability show. It was his mother next to him. She was the only one who truly understood the pain that they both suffered. Maybe even his grandparents but Astyanax could never quite share the connection that his father had been famed to have with the king and queen.

"What do you mean the Greeks left?" Andromache asked, her smile falling away. Her voice had caught in her throat and her arms stiffened. She looked at her son with such skepticism that Astyanax wondered if he was telling the truth himself.

"Their boats are gone. Their tents are gone. They're gone, Mother. All of them," Astyanax explained. "They left a giant horse made of wood. Grandfather says it's a tribute to the victors of the Trojan War."

"You know better than to lie, Astyanax," Andromache scolded.

"Mother, I'm not lying!" Astyanax cried out. "Look out the window! The city is rejoicing!" He jumped off of the bed and opened the darkened curtains. They hadn't been opened in quite some time. Andromache had taken her mourning to an extreme and her grief extended to the point that she saw very little of the sunlight.

Andromache flinched when the noon sunlight poured into her room. She squinted as she looked over the sea and didn't see the familiar scatter of Greek ships that surrounded her city. It was clear blue skies and a crystal shore. Trojans wandered the city and beaches like ants. Instead of smiling and joining in the festivities, she frowned. Andromache shuffled her way to the balcony and surveyed the horizon.

Astyanax mistook the frown for disbelief and in a way it was. Andromache could not believe that the Greeks had gone and in her heart she knew that they weren't. It was as if Hector had slipped into her information from some divine reach of the universe.

"They're still out there," she murmured.

"Mother, don't," Astyanax tried to calm her but Andromache just turned away and swept to the other rooms deeper into the suite. Astyanax followed. "Mother! Why can't you be optimistic? EVER! If not for your sanity's sake, then for my own!"

"You will one day learn to value the wisdom of those older than you, namely me, my son," Andromache replied.

"Your son! How could I possibly be your son when you haven't even taken care of me since I was two! Aunt Katri has and Acacius and Uncle Paris! You have been in that bed for so long that you've long forgotten how to be my mother!" Astyanax yelled bitterly. "Why can't you just be happy? War was all I've ever known. Can't you even lie to me for a day so I can pretend that this is real even if you think it's not?

"Illusions are luxuries that we can't afford," Andromache snapped, grabbing Astyanax by the shoulders. "This war deprived you of your father! You can pretend that it has vanished for no apparent reason but I'm not stupid."

"Neither am I! But I'm just a child. I have the right to be wrong or naïve or stupid!" Andromache continued to grip the boy's shoulders looking at him pleadingly.

"My Astyanax, believe me," she murmured. "This is not a game. I wish it were and Hector would come back no matter who won the war but it isn't. They are out there somewhere, hiding from our eyes, waiting for us to open our walls to their siege. They wouldn't just leave, Astyanax. After ten years, they simply just would not leave like this."

"You're hurting me, mother," Astyanax replied his voice just as soft. Andromache let her fingers weaken and as soon as her grip loosened, Astyanax turned and ran.

"You brought me here, why?" Katri asked. "We could have easily talked down at the beaches. In fact, I thought it would have been better for us to be public. It would force us to remain civil."

"But not honest. I want us to be honest about this without Astyanax running to you or Acacius running me with a spear with his eyes and you think I'm kidding about Acacius," Paris added as he saw the twinkle in Katri's eyes, "but I'm really not. That man…" He paused realizing what he was about to recognize. "He replaced me really really well."

"Yes," she nodded, smiling more seriously. "Acacius makes sure I'm all right. The men in my life make sure I'm cared for; Acacius and Astyanax."

"That's good. Then, you really don't need me," Paris prodded on. "You don't have to fix things with me unless you actually wanted to, not because you needed to."

"Paris, that would be the definition of using you, which I would hope you don't think I would do," Katri answered. "That's why I moved about the guest suites and into the more modest quarters—"

"Which I still disagree with, by the way. Those rooms were made for you. No one else can use them now because it's your suite."

"I'm not going to argue about this again," Katri rolled her eyes, taking a seat by the windows. "You said you didn't want anything excess. You said you wanted to get straight to the point. Let's have it then."

Paris opened his mouth to agree but he realized what she meant by 'it's not simple.' He couldn't think of the slightest word that could help heal what was broken. There was more to repairing such things, not just words but actions. Paris was determined, however, and he thought he might try confiding in her again.

"Do you think I should have wasted my time with that duel with Menelaus? Or what was suppose to be a duel anyways," Paris sneered at himself.

"What?" Katri asked cocking her eyebrow in confusion.

"Remember two years ago? I had tried to defeat Menelaus…"

"Yes, I remember. You almost died that day. It's not exactly one of those things that I can forget all that quickly," Katri frowned.

"Do you think it mattered at all?" Paris asked out of curiosity.

"You feel like that attempt meant nothing," she murmured. "It meant something, Paris. You were brave enough to attempt to sacrifice yourself for the sake of the men that would die if you didn't. It wasn't successful, to be sure, but it meant something and your leadership afterwards more than compensated for it."

"Tell that to the men that snicker behind the back of the 'Cowardly Prince' who was saved by a mist of the gods," Paris growled.

"Well, if they feel like they have something to say about a decision of the gods, then they better take it up with them. A divine power saved you. You weren't suppose to die then. That was your Fate. Simple. Mortals can be so stupid, to question what the divinity has chosen as their path."

"Haven't you ever questioned your fate though, Katri? When I met Helen, I knew she would be part of my fate but now I wonder if maybe I had a choice to change it. I wonder what would my fate have been if I had not went to that diplomatic trip."

You would have been happier, a voice echoed in his head, then disappeared into the dark corners of his mind again. Katri heard it too and she just stared at Paris for a moment.

"I've questioned things, yes," she concurred. "But our Fates change even when there are things that were written in stone but the gods have the power to strike that stone and bring forth a new one. Lovers forget the ones they care for, soulmates lose track of who they are… But one must accept these things, I guess. There's just too much that time cannot erase, the bruises to our pride, the wounds we have suffered but the gods have the last word and to question it is not only a sin but stupidly futile."

"So you think I should accept my mistakes and that you think that Helen was meant to be with me?" Paris prodded, his thoughts drifting to another subject.

Katri turned away frowning even deeper. She looked out to the window and breathed in the salty air of the ocean, trying to answer a question without seeming like a hypocrite. She just wanted to turn away from the subject and get to what they had come to the library for in the first place.

"Why are you asking me this?" Katri asked her voice seeming so defeated. "I wanted to talk about us. I wanted to talk about you and me, not Helen. I don't want to talk about her."

"No. Give me this one answer and I swear we'll talk whatever it is all out but I want to know if you think Helen was meant for me." Paris felt like weakening her stubborn demeanor so he put a hand on her upper arm squeezing it slightly to tell Katri that he was there; as if his touch could keep her from lying and it did nothing but annoy her.

"Stop trying to fish for answers you want with a different question," Katriana replied shrugging his touch away. "You want to know if I'm still in love with you or if I still hold it against you that you fell for Helen instead for me or if I think you would have been happier if you were with me and such." Katriana walked away to the other side of the room feeling this attempt at reconciliation falling apart before her very eyes. "Gods, I thought you wanted to fix us! Why did you go bring this up?"

"Because it's why we broke apart in the first place! Don't you think it would be better if we can finally tie the ends that we just left loose for a two years?" Paris shot back. Katri knew that he was quite right. It would be better to deal with it now but she refused to agree to that.

"No! It would be better if it were under rug swept! It would be better if we just ignored everything!" Katri almost yelled. "I don't want to deal with loving you and not having you again!"

"So you do love me still?" Paris said, his voice hushed.

"Yes. Is that what you want to hear?" Katri asked. She rolled her eyes and headed for the door. "This was a mistake." And with that she left.

Paris tried to go after her too late. By the time he realized she had gone, she was deep in the crowds hiding her sorrow in laughter and with drink. He wanted to scream and yell in frustration. He wanted to throw a fit over it but couldn't. SO he just took a skin of wine and watched over the city from his palace, watching the people cavort in pleasure around the Trojan horse that they brought into the center of the city.

As night fell, the festivities were dying down for the night ready for another day of celebrations tomorrow. And as the alcohol made the city and the prince sleepier and sleepier, Paris remembered thinking how uneasy that 'tribute' made him as he and others fell asleep.

So everyone was asleep, save for maybe a few drunks who were too oblivious of the world to be considered alert on any level. Fires were still crackling in the center square.

Children lay on the streets, having had their premature first taste of liquor.

Men lay with prostitutes and whores or even women who felt like having their pleasure without their husbands.

Some wives lay in their homes, smiling in their sleep as they held their children and husbands in welcomed silence instead of amid the distant clashes of sword, spear and shield.

No one could hear the hushed whisper of voices coming from within the statue. No one could hear the gentle knock against its walls, the splinter of the wood against Achean feet.

No one saw the dust that erupted from the floor as one after another, bodies jumped down to the ground from its lofty hiding place. The trap had been set, the Trojans walked into it blindly with their wishes to end the war, and as Philoctetes with his famed poisoned arrows shot fire into the air to alert his comrades hiding in a nearby cove, the siege began.