Author's Notes: Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed! Everytime I was plagued with writer's block, I went back and read the reviews and somehow found the energy to continue on. ) Personal responses to reviewers are at the bottom of the chapter. I hope ya'll enjoy!


CHAPTER I

Briseis ran. Tendrils of her traitorous hair whipped into her eyes and mouth, both blinding and choking her, but every time she stumbled, Achilles was beside her, his firm grip on her arm both steadying and encouraging. She was grateful for his presence, though a part of her was greatly humbled at the realization that she was slowing all three down from escape. With every burst of energy she possessed, she struggled to keep up with Paris's long strides, for she feared what would happen should the three be trapped in a burning city filled with Greeks.

But I will not allow that to happen! she thought grimly, calling upon Apollo to lend her haste. Still she was ill dressed for running and her dress greatly hampered her movements, as did her soft sandals, which had been rendered to tatters. I might as well be running barefoot! Briseis thought with a sigh. Then perhaps I would go quieter as well and cease making such a noisy racket!

For the three were running in the shadows, hiding behind debris, anything to avoid being seen by Greek soldiers. To Briseis's relief, either fortune favored them or the Gods did, for none of the triumphant soldiers gave them notice.

Abruptly, Paris halted his run.

"Why have we stopped?" Briseis panted, pointedly ignoring the looks of concern Achilles sent her direction. With some effort, she stood straighter and tried to dispel the stitch in her side.

"The Greeks have discovered the passage out of the city. The passageway is guarded, and some foul Greeks run in pursuit of those who escaped," Paris said, unable to suppress the tremor in his voice. "What now do we do?"

Achilles peeked around the corner and surveyed the passageway. Indeed it was being guarded by Greeks, who were looking around savagely as if daring any Trojan to approach. "They will be no trouble," he said, turning back. "There are only twenty."

"That is nineteen too many."

"But you forget something, Prince," Achilles said, with the barest of smiles. "You have with you Achilles."

Paris looked at him for a long moment, the fear in his eyes rapidly yielding way to anger. "If only I could forget." His next words were filled with scorn and false bravado. "You would kill your own countrymen?"

At the mocking tone, Achilles turned his head to look directly at Paris, his grey-blue eyes cold as ice. "Do not dare make such assumptions about my honor. Those soldiers are not my countrymen and I owe not my loyalty to them," he fairly spat, before drawing his sword. "But enough of this. I will not bandy useless words when there is fighting to be done."

Paris's lip curled in indignation and he opened his mouth as if to reply, but Achilles spoke first, and to Briseis. "Stay hidden in the shadows until the path is clear, and keep quiet," said he.

Briseis nodded, trying hard to suppress her anxiety for her cousin. Of the two sons of Priam, Hector had been the diligent one in the ways of combat, and Paris had often skipped his lessons to court a woman. As a result, Paris's skills with a sword were somewhat lacking and in close combat against a trained warrior, he was less than competent. How could he fare against twenty?

Sensing her worry, Paris summoned a pale, but cocky smile. "I will not die this night!" he promised, looking challengingly at Achilles. Then for a fleeting second, his fingers brushed her shoulder reassuringly before he swung around the corner and loosed his first arrow, directly into the chest of a Greek.

The soldier gasped and then slumped to the ground, the blood already pooling at his feet. For a moment, there was a tense silence, as Paris stood there, shock keenly written across his features, and the soldiers stared back at him, their mouths agape.

And then all exploded into action.

Swords were drawn, and armor clanged noisily as the soldiers threw themselves upon her cousin. He had time enough to send two more arrows before the first man reached him and swung brutally. Briseis clamped down hard on the scream that bubbled in her throat. Yet as the sword sliced through the air, another blade came up sharply and deflected it. Achilles moved easily into the battle, his heavy broadsword forcing the men back, finding vulnerabilities in their defenses, and exploiting them with merciless brutality. Blood gushed in the air.

Distinctly, Briseis heard her cousin cry out in pain. Concern defeating her better judgment, she poked her head out of the shadows, automatically answering his cry. At what she saw, another scream threatened her lips. Paris was on the ground, one arm bleeding from a vicious cut. In his uninjured hand, he held his sword feebly, but Briseis knew he lacked the resistance and strength to stave off the next blow.

I must do something! Briseis thought frantically, but what could she do? Run out and attack the man? Hardly possible! She would fall under his blade even sooner than Paris. Yet she could not simply sit still in safety and watch her dear cousin die!

Then something caught her eye –

Achilles! A deft twist of his wrist and a knife hurtled through the air, sinking directly into the heart of the one standing over Paris. The man froze for a moment, his panicked gaze flying from Achilles to Paris to the knife, before his eyes rolled into his head and he fell backward.

Achilles afforded Briseis only the smallest of nods before resuming the battle, his sword rising swiftly to counter an attack. Metal clanged against metal and then Achilles twisted, slipped beneath the man's outstretched arm, and sliced his sword against the man's throat. With a grim smile, Achilles withdrew his bloodstained blade and watched with dispassion as the man literally fell dead at his feet. The warrior brushed his bloodied blond hair clear of his face, and then looked at where Briseis crouched, her mouth open in horror. "We must go now, my lady," he said, "There will be more coming soon."

Briseis ran toward the pair, but knelt beside her cousin, who was still lying on the ground. He was breathing rapidly and trembling. "Paris, Paris," she called, trying to get their eyes to meet. With her hands, she caught his injured arm and peered at the cut. It did not appear too deep, but it was still bleeding and Briseis knew it had to sting something fierce.

"We have no time for dallying!" Achilles insisted sternly, his dark eyes darting around as if expecting a larger contingent of Greek soldiers to appear. Without another word, he grabbed Paris's other arm and dragged the shaking young man to his feet. "Prince, you have my full permission to shake and tremble at a later hour," he said. "But now is not the time. Gather your wits and your sword. We must make haste."

The young prince's face was white, but Achilles had given him an order and in times of emotional floundering, orders were a solid anchor to grasp onto. He nodded slightly at Achilles, and then looked in the direction of the passageway. "We must follow the passageway down to the River," he said quietly. "From there where we go, I know not."

"We will decide that when we get there," said Achilles firmly.

Briseis moved to support her cousin, but with a soft grunt, he stepped away and began limping down the dank corridor. Concerned, Briseis watched her cousin's faltering movements before Achilles gently touched her shoulder, requesting her attention. "Are you all right, Briseis?" he inquired softly, his voice having lost most of the commanding quality.

"I am fine," Briseis replied, her eyes still on her cousin. He was injured, but alive. Still alive. Oh praise every god and goddess, every rock, every pebble, even every grain of sand! Could plain words convey her gratitude? No. No words were strong enough. Yet she had to speak. "Thank you for his life, Achilles."

He studied solemnly for a moment before slowly inclining his head. Said he, "The one attacking him just happened to be the very one who spilt my wine the first night in Troy. I merely took leverage while he was preoccupied with your cousin."

Briseis looked staggered, but after catching the twinkle in his eyes, smiled slightly and shook her head. "Thank you all the same," she said wryly, before turning and following Paris.

As she turned, however, she could have sworn she saw a smile touch his lips.

It had, mercifully, been dark within the tunnel. Achilles had stridden ahead of the two, dispatching any Greek soldiers. Briseis had heard their panicked cries and then the thuds as their bodies had hit the ground, but she had neither seen the actual battle, nor the faces of those killed. For that, she was grateful. In merely one night, she had witnessed more bloodshed than she would ever care for.

Now the three stumbled out of the tunnel, taking a moment to orient their senses. The night was quiet, save for the crackle of flames, the occasional shouts of victory, and the gentle rush of the river. She could hear Paris breathing next to her, each breath sounding drawn and pained. Quietly, she said, "Do your injuries bother you?"

His reply was tinged with sorrow, and sounding much unlike the carefree and playful cousin she had known all her life. "My injuries, some, but my heart more."

Bewildered by the solemnity of the reply, Briseis turned to look at him and then followed his gaze to the burning city. Troy. Her country, her home. Her own heart twisted at the sight of her beautiful home burning in the night. Somewhere in there, my people lay dying, or already dead, she thought grimly. Oh Apollo, where are you now? Why have you allowed this? Why have we lost your kind patronage?

Her mind flashed to the vast marketplaces of Troy, now being consumed by flames. It was in the marketplaces she had spent her days, often evading Hector's attempts to find her. She could still remember every path, every road through Troy, the cheering of the crowds, the beautiful petals the adoring people had flung at her feet. She remembered the gentle sea breeze that would lift her hair as she rode through the city, and the sight of the Citadel, gleaming so high above, a pillar of undying strength and pride. Burning, now, all of it burning.

Unable to look any longer, for surely her heart would break, Briseis wrenched her eyes away and saw Achilles quietly contemplating her. His eyes were intense and unwavering as always, but when he spoke, his voice was surprisingly gentle. "So hard it is," he murmured, his eyes flickering toward the distant flames. "You never know how much you revere something until you no longer have it."

"You never know how much you revere something until you no longer have it," Paris heard Achilles say, the sudden sound breaking into his grieving. At the words, instant and blinding anger rushed through Paris. The fool, he speaks as though he knows what it is like to revere something. A man like him reveres nothing and can be trusted only as far as he can be thrown!

Yet in the back of his mind, Paris reluctantly acknowledged that what Achilles said resonated too sharply within him. All in his life, he had grown up assuming Troy would stand forever. For the Trojans had had a loving and wise king in his father, and they had possessed a staunch protector in Hector. So Paris had grown up, the second son, an indulged and often spoiled prince. He had neglected his studies of politics and warfare, for to his young mind, there was no need to learn such frivolous things! Hector was the Prince, the defender and jewel of Troy, and Paris was content to take his smaller pleasures, such as bedding a fine woman. He had merely lived in luxury in Troy, courting women when it suited him, riding his horse, practicing his archery, jesting with his brother…and now it was all gone. His childhood was being consumed in the flames. Oh what I would give for one more night in Troy, he thought painfully. I need just one more night to sit in the garden, to watch the ripples in the pond, and to smell the fresh vegetation. Oh how I miss such pleasures!

"Come on, cousin," Briseis said brokenly, lulling Paris from his thoughts. "We must find a safe place to rest for the night, somewhere where we cannot see the city." He could feel her gently tugging at his tunic sleeve, but all the same, he could not find the strength to walk away from his Motherland! If he turned his back, he would never see Troy again.

"I – I cannot," he whispered, cursing himself for sounding so weak. Yet everything he had ever known was in the city of Troy, and belatedly, he realized the extent of what his actions had done to his beloved land. He had destroyed her. He had invited the doom of Troy the very moment he had invited Helen to leave Sparta. Guilt weighed so heavily on his mind that Paris wanted nothing more than to fall to the ground, perhaps stab himself with one of his own arrows. What had he done? What had he brought upon his city, his people?

Seemingly from very far away, he heard his cousin speaking. "Paris. Paris, we must go. We must find the others, make a new life, and make a new Troy - " her voice caught on the last word, and then she was sobbing, her strength depleted at last.

Paris was aware of Achilles moving toward them and then wrapping his cousin in a comforting embrace. At the bold move, his anger threatened again and he wheeled about, blinded by his guilt and grief and seeing a perfect scapegoat for his rage. "Do not touch her!" he screamed, his voice a distorted version of itself.

To his frustration, Achilles neither flared in rage nor drew his weapon. He merely looked at Paris, his gaze unflinching. "You seem incapable of offering comfort to your cousin this tonight, for you are too wrought with emotion," he said evenly. "So I will."

"I don't care. Get back from her!" Paris shouted again, savagely, but his body was trembling with sobs and cry of anguish burst forth from his lips. Troy was dead, his father was dead, all his kin – murdered by the Greeks, murdered by the ones whom he had practically invited to Troy! His city was crying with agony, and it was entirely his fault. He looked around desperately, needing to hurt something, needing to just release all his rage. His fingers closed around a rock and he flung it, as hard as he could. Immediately a burst of pain shot through his injured arm, but he cared not, it was only a little pain, and he groped around for another rock.

"Paris, no! Achilles, help him," he heard Briseis plea, but her voice was so distant and irrelevant, and nothing mattered, nothing but the torment in his heart. Blindly stumbling around, his eyes a crystalline blur, Paris found another rock and began to fling it, savoring the flash of agony that danced across his arm. More pain. Yes, he needed more pain.

Then a strong arm closed over his, restraining. Paris began to kick and writhe, pounding fiercely against the unyielding hold. But he was so weary, so very weary, and too overcome with emotion to offer much fight. The hold on his arm was so tight and against his will, Paris found himself being lowered to the ground. He continued thrashing, but he could hardly move and gradually, his frantic movements ceased and he simply lay in the soft sand, sobbing piteously. The hold on his limbs never wavered, never ceased, and finally, Paris surrendered his last defense and sank into an exhausted sleep, the angry tears still running down his face.

The night was just beginning to yield to day when Achilles finally allowed himself to slump against a rock and close his eyes. The night had been a long one and he was far more fatigued than he would like to admit. I have spent weeks fighting without suffering exhaustion and now one night has me nearly spent!

With what seemed like great effort, Achilles dragged his eyes open and looked around their small shelter. It was nothing more than few large rocks stacked near one another, but it would provide cover against the sun and was sufficiently far from the city and the Greek camps that Achilles knew they would not be found.

Paris lay in the sand a few feet from him, still unconscious. After the young prince had collapsed from exhaustion and grief, Achilles, at Briseis's request, had thrown him over his shoulder and carried him the rest of the way to safety. Perhaps that is why I ache so, Achilles thought, amused. He is heavier than he looks.

"What do you think of him, my lord?" Briseis asked him, her head resting idly against his shoulder.

Achilles grimaced. "Of Paris?"

"Yes."

"I cannot hold too high an opinion of one who wishes me dead," Achilles said dryly. He paused then, carefully contemplating the prince before saying,"He seems very young."

At that, Briseis smiled. "We are the same age."

Achilles blinked. "Indeed? I never would have guessed. There is a quality about him that is both innocent and...infuriating. Clearly he has always led a sheltered life and is used to having everything handed to him. He is not overly strong, nor does he possess great skill, yet in his dreams, he is a great warrior.Seldom has hebeen in true combat, but he has heard many stories of heroes and so aspires to be one."

A thoughtful silence descended before Briseis spoke again, sounding pleasantly surprised. "You hardly know my cousin and yet you have spoken of him perfectly," she said. "How came you to draw such conclusions?"

"I have seen him fight," Achilles mused, running one hand through her soft hair and finding the movement strangely comforting. "You can tell much of a man from how he fights. For one, his weapon of choice is a bow. That tells me he prefers distance, and while he is not quite a coward, he is reluctant to engage in direct combat, despite his brash challenges. Second, when we were in the city, he attacked the Greek warriors first, although he was clearly afraid. That tells me much of his pride. He loathes me, and would not have me make the first kill. In his mind, by killing a Greek before I could, he was establishing his superiority. He is a proud young man, who is not much of a warrior but who has the airs of one." He paused again, and smiled, but it was bittersweet. "In many ways, he reminds me of my own cousin, Patroclus. Perhaps it is a fault of youth."

Briseis leaned into his touch, and then said sleepily, "I love my cousin dearly, Achilles, but I fear for him. He is not the man Hector was. Perhaps Hector indulged him too much, but Paris never truly grew up."

"Aye, but there is time enough for growing," said Achilles, his voice low and soothing in her ear. "Rest now, Briseis. You are exhausted. I will watch for signs of the Greeks." He shifted slightly so that he was fully supporting her weight in his arms, her head lolling against his broad chest. She did not resist his movements and after quick-murmured thanks, closed her eyes and lapsed quickly into sleep. Achilles allowed himself a content sigh. Though in the past years he had oftencurled off to sleep with a beautiful woman by his side, being with Briseis was different somehow. It was sweeter, more intimate. He felt a surge of fierce protectiveness toward her and it gave him pleasure to be able to keep her safe in his arms. For once in his life, he was obligated to defend someone and he would do so gladly.

Achilles was so distracted by thoughts of Briseis that he almost did not notice he was under scrutiny. He stiffened automatically and silently turned his head, meeting Paris's dark and foreboding eyes. How long he had been awake and how much he had heard, Achilles could not tell.Wordlessly,the warriorwatchedas Paris painfully climbed to his feet and approached.

A fierce struggle played across Paris's expression as he came closer. Finally, hardly one arm's length away from Achilles, he paused, one hand wrapping around his sword hilt. Andsuddenly, Achilles remembered Paris's words from the previous night, and it took him great effort to suppress his groan of frustration.The night before, Paris had promised not to seek vengeance, but for that night only had his promise stood.That night was over. The sun had risen and it was now morning.

Paris spoke then, his words tight, each one drawn from his injured body with great effort. "Achilles. Draw your sword."

tbc

Whew, that was a hard one to write! I'm horrible at portraying grief. It's something I love to read, but when I try to write it, my mind blanks out. Also please forgive the nearly complete absence of gods in this story! I know in The Iliad, the gods play an important role, but rather than completely butcher their personalities, I'll just leave them out. Let's just say they're all on vacation in Olympus, ne? ;)

ii99: Thanks, ii99! I'm doing my best to spit out chapters as fast I can; thanks for your vote of confidence.

DragonWraith: It's BRISEIS, you mofo! P Nah, you know I love you, despite your atrocious spelling skills. -grin- I'm glad to see you still reviewing and hey, I never knew that you watched Troy. Perhaps you can help with some characterization -hint, hint- Thanks for the review!

HentaiStar: Thank you for the kind comment! I'll do my best to get a happy ending, but my characters have a tendency to sort of....kill everybody and destroy the world. Eeps, those evil characters.

ShadowHeart6: Thanks, ShadowHeart! I hope you like the direction that this is going in. )

ButterflyGirl: I know, I'm starting to sound reduntant by now, but genuine thanks, ButterflyGirl. It's always nice to know what works and what doesn't.

FreeLancer88: Thank you for your support, FreeLancer! Since it's summer, I'm most definitely continuing. Otherwise I'd be bored out of my mind! There's only so many times you can sneak into a movie theater...ah....I mean, purchase tickets to a movie theater...;)

Amal: Thank you, Amal. ) I can't promise anything, but I'll be doing my best to update at least once a week. Once a week is pretty slow compared to the other authors on , especially those in the Troy fandom, but compared to my old updates of once every three months, I think I'm improving a bit on my updates. D

Kelly: At the end, the thought was supposed to be Paris's. In my original word document, there was a "Paris thought" at the end, but I guess decided to cut it out! Thank you for pointing that out. Many thanks also for the support in the story plot! I probably won't have slash in the story, since I'm still uncomfortable about writing it. ) Oh yes, and I was disappointed too that Achilles's heel wasn't mentioned in the movie, although Paris did shoot him there, so I guess that's something.

baphomet: Thanks for the support, baphomet! Always appreciated.

walk the sky: I never tire of hearing your words, walk. P And yes, I doubt you'll see any slashy stuff from me anytime soon. -grin- I'd love to see what you'd make of it though. Thanks as always for your comments!

Ladytron: Ahhh yes, angst! I'm deeply in love with angst, so long as it isn't happening to me! D If it happened to my enemies (-cackle-) or the extremely nice looking guys in movies (-drool-)...well that's a completely different matter! Thank you for the feedback!