Author's Notes: It has been two weeks since my last update. I know. -cringe- I hadn't meant for such a long wait, but every single time I sat down to write, some completely frivolous yet absolutely imperative issue would rise. Finally I just tied myself to a chair and demanded my hands to type. I wouldn't normally post such a rough draft as a chapter on , but I'm feeling guilty from not having updated in so long and I'm also desperate for comments on how to improve the chapter. My muse is too angry from being tied down to cooperate much with the editing process. -offers sacrifices to muse- Oh holy muse, I beg thee for forgiveness and plea with thou holiness for inspiration...
CHAPTER II
When one has nothing left, when one's soul drifts aimlessly, lost, confused, and utterly hurt, sometimes duty can be the greatest comforter. Duty gives one focus, gives one something real so that one feels there are reasons still to live, explanations that one is not useless in the world, but that one has a destiny to follow and legacy to leave behind. Paris had buried himself in duty. He had felt hollow when he had first woken.
He still felt hollow. In his heart, something seemed to have shattered into pieces and Paris felt dizzy with every waking moment. One moment he felt a blinding rage, so hot that he burned like a sun inside, the next an engulfing grief that threatened to swallow him whole, and then, simply…nothing. He was numb with emotion. His head pounded fiercely from his crying, his limbs were wracked with pain, and his injured arm protested every movement, yet Paris welcomed all the torment to his physical body. If he could not feel internally, then he was grateful he still felt something. What a strange time this is, he thought bitterly, that I would cherish pain.
His duty was all he had to live for.
If he could kill Achilles, if he could avenge his brother, the Prince and protector of Troy, then he would wander the Underworld knowing he had made safe the future of Trojans. That must be my task, the reason why the gods allowed me to live where Hector died. The gods guided us out of the city and now the gods have decreed that I kill Achilles. For surely the gods must loathe him! He sacked the Temple of Apollo and murdered Apollo's priests!
Resolutely, Paris forced his eyes to open and quietly studied Achilles's figure. The man was resting, his knees drawn to his chest, Briseis's head gently cradled against his shoulder. Strength rippled silently in his tense muscles and his entire body seemed coiled like a cat, at the moment resting, but able to spring in a second. Paris watched as Achilles closed his eyes and ran one hand through Briseis's hair. Repulsion flashed through the prince and he very nearly screamed his outrage and disgust, but with effort held his tongue. He did not want to wake Briseis. He did not want her to stop him again.
Abruptly, Achilles turned his head and stared directly into Paris's withering gaze. For a second, Paris hesitated, all his instincts telling him to blink and look away, but a stronger, a deep and previously unknown part of him protested. The gods were with him and he could not retreat. He had a duty to do and Paris would see it done.
His dark gaze never wavering, Paris clambered to his feet and began stalking toward Achilles. He had to do it. He had to kill him! Murderer! Hector was the finest brother anybody could have wished for and he would have been a great king of Troy if not for Achilles.
He was four feet now from Achilles.
Yet, a dark part of his mind edged, did he not save your life last night?
Only because of Briseis! Any other time, he would not have hesitated to put a sword through my heart. Does not his killing of Hector prove that? his mind swiftly countered.
He makes Briseis so happy. It has been long since I have seen such sparkle in her eyes…
Briseis is blind! Blinded by whatever evil sorcery he weaves across her eyes. How else could she love the killer of Hector? Briseis loved him as I did…she could never of her will love his murderer. Never!
Three feet away.
He would kill you in less than a second. You are no match for him.
No! I could defeat him. It would not be so hard…
Numerous have tried and all have failed. You court death by challenging Achilles. Surely you do not wish to die.
Two feet away.
He protected your back as staunchly as Hector ever did.
Be silent! For last night only was he an ally.
He did not harm you this morning.
Who is to say he would have held his peace this night?
So you break the peace now?
He would have broken it first.
Paris drew to a halt, not one foot from the famed warrior. His eyes swept across Achilles's rugged features, his jutted chin, matted hair, intense blue eyes, and he saw only the face of his brother's murderer. Grief washed through him again and was quickly replaced with a strong sense of duty.
He killed my brother. The law dictates that I kill him.
You tread a path of fools. You are no match for Achilles, the dwindling voice in the back of his head whispered, but the voice was so faint it all but faded away in the booming call of duty. He had to do this. The gods had decreed he do this. There was no choice. There was only killing to be done.
Paris's mouth moved, yet he was not entirely aware of what he was saying, for in truth, he was astonished he could even speak. "Achilles," he rasped, "Draw your sword."
Had the challenge occurred merely a fortnight ago, Achilles would have swiftly drawn forth his great blade and severed head from shoulder before laughing at the fool who had dared fight him. Yet it was not a fortnight ago and Paris was no ordinary fool. He was a fool related to Briseis and Briseis was fast becoming his world.
He settled for a soft sigh. "Go back to sleep, prince."
For a moment, Paris seemed too startled at Achilles's calm response to speak. Then he flared with indignation, all arrogance returning. "Is that how the great Achilles meets a challenge?" he taunted, arching his eyebrows with a boyish air. "He tells his foe to sleep? Do you not dare to accept my challenge?"
Oh but gods, the boy was so infuriating, Achilles thought, suppressing his own pride with a great effort. It helped greatly that Briseis was in his arms. Concern for her conditioned his response, for Achilles thought Paris's control of a sword might be so weak that in combat, he might wound Briseis rather than his opponent. Nay, they could not fight here. Not in such close quarters, not with Briseis asleep and helpless to fend off an accidental blow. Achilles would have to convince Paris somehow to lay down his arms before he could accidentally hurt Briseis.
"Well?" Paris said haughtily, drawing courage from Achilles's silence.
"I dare accept your challenge," said Achilles, drawing upon the rarely used tool of tact, "If you would dare stand by it to the end." He paused a moment to allow his words to sink in. "This is not the first time you have made a brash challenge of death and last you did, you retreated from combat."
The color drained from Paris's face as he realized of whom Achilles spoke. Menelaus.
"You fear death, do you not?" Achilles continued. "When his sword pierced your leg, when he knocked you to the ground and stood over you, you saw death for the first time in your life. You saw it and you feared it. It was nothing glorious like you had been told, like the great stories had dictated. It was merely death, blackness, a pitch into an endless abyss. So you ran from him, because you did not want to die."
Paris's sword hand wavered.
Subtly, Achilles changed the tone of his voice, softened it. He spoke in tones previously reserved solely for Patroclus and Briseis. "Prince, your honor and customs demand you challenge me and you have done so. Let this be the end of it for now. Go now and sleep, allow your body to heal, perhaps learn more of the sword, and then we may fight again."
For a fleeting moment, his words worked. Paris's shoulders slumped and he half-turned, as if to depart. Yet as he turned, bruised ego and desperate vengeance conquered reason and Paris uttered a soft but passionate, "No."
This is the very reason why I seldom use words to settle disputes! Achilles thought, annoyed. They never work, for all ears are deaf. With a sigh, he resigned himself to the plain fact that there had to be a fight. As gently as he could, and as inconspicuously as possible, he shifted Briseis's body so that his own shielded her.
Paris was speaking, and his will was palpably building with every syllable. "No." He pivoted sharply and this time, his sword rang free of sheath. He swallowed hard, summoning courage, and then said harshly, "I do not understand your hesitation to fight, but whether it is by your will or not, we will fight. You awarded my brother the same honor."
Achilles met the accusation steadfastly. "That I did, and that I regret." His own words surprised him. Did he truly feel that way? Yes, he supposed, he did. When Priam had risked his life to enter the Greek's camp to beg for his son's body, Achilles had seen what a noble man Hector must have been. As he had walked outside to bundle Hector's body, he had wept tears of sorrow over having so rashly wasted a life. He had even called Hector 'brother', only seeing in death that the men he killed were...men. Not nameless souls. Real men.
Paris laughed mirthlessly. "As if you were capable of regret," he sneered.
Achilles sensed the lunge a second before it came. His instincts well honed from years of combat, he rose from the ground and drew his sword, parrying the blow. With a grunt of frustration, Paris doubled back and attempted to run him through, but again Achilles parried. He made no move to go on the offensive. He merely blocked.
The swords scraped close by his flesh, but Achilles remained perfectly serene. No sweat ran down his face, no exertion was required on his part. With a seeming laziness, he turned aside each and every one of Paris's raged attacks. In sharp contrast to Achilles's smooth movements, Paris was sharp and uneasy, his rage a blinding ally. In his eyes, Achilles read only too clearly Paris's dilemma. The younger man was determined to simultaneously fight and retreat, and the inner struggle was harming him more than any enemy ever could.
In a few deft twists of his wrist, Achilles parried two blows and forced Paris's sword arm high above his head. With his free hand, he tapped Paris's throat, letting the younger man know only too well that his guard had dropped and were he in the mood, Achilles could have finished him. For the briefest moment, fear filled Paris's eyes, but when Achilles stepped back, dropping his sword hand as if inviting another attack, confusion quickly replaced the fear.
Still the prince had been taught enough of swordsmanship to know never to ignore a chance and with a quiet oath, he flung himself at Achilles again, his sword flashing wildly. As with before, Achilles countered each blow with a quiet intensity.
"You are wasting your energy," he said, easily dodging a wild swing.
Paris was panting heavily, his injuries hampering him and exhaustion beginning to cloud his senses. He shook his head, shaking sweat from his dark curls and opened his mouth as if to reply, but then closed it. At this stage in his exhaustion, words were beyond him. Wordlessly he pressed his attack, his sword scraping against Achilles's. Twisting his lithe body underneath it, Achilles knocked it out of the way and again tapped Paris's throat. This time, Paris did not even spare him a glance and instead wrenched his sword back and swung again, straight at Achilles's head. The warrior gracefully ducked. He could feel the whisper of displaced air against the back of his neck.
Pivoting on his right foot, Achilles turned directly into Paris's unprotected front and knocked him to the ground with a sweep of his arm. Unprepared for the blow, off-balance, and too weary to offer resistance, Paris lost his footing.
A cry of pain escaped his lips as his injured arm met sand and then he was grabbling blindly with his hands, desperately attempting to scramble to his feet. Achilles set one foot on Paris's sword, holding it flat against the ground. "Enough," he said.
Paris released a moan of protest and attempted again to rise from the ground, but Achilles's strength clearly overpowered his own and the sword remained trapped under Achilles's boot. "What game do you play?" he finally hissed, tears of frustration springing to his eyes.
"I don't play games," said Achilles.
Paris coughed, the coughs violently wracking his slender and injured body. He choked out, "Then why do you not kill me?"
The question struck the core of Achilles's heart painfully, for it was one that had been tormenting him all throughout the fight. Indeed, why had he not killed Paris? Briseis was asleep and she would never know. In his years of war, Achilles had learned how to mask a wound so that it appeared accidental. He could have killed Paris and made it look natural. Certainly Briseis would have grieved, but in time she would have found acceptance, as she had with Hector, her uncle Priam, and numerous other Trojans. Why then? Why had he stayed his hand so many times, when neither oath nor promise had bound him?
Achilles studied the prince of Troy keenly. Paris was a mess, his dark hair was disheveled, his body was covered in sand, and dried blood was caked on his arm. With every breath he drew, he coughed and his limbs were shaking from overexertion. So young, so naïve, Achilles thought. His feelings at the moment were foreign to him. Was it hesitation he felt? A hesitation to kill one so young, one so clearly unprepared for battle?
Angry tears glazed Paris's eyes and as Achilles stood silently, a few began to run down his cheeks, cutting a line of moisture across his sand-covered face. With a sound of disgust, Paris roughly wiped them away and turned his head slightly, shielding the tears from Achilles. But Achilles had already seen them.
He was suddenly reminded of an image of Patroclus, after having lost his first fight.
For the second time in his life, Achilles was so engrossed in thought that he was caught completely unprepared for what happened next.
"Achilles, stop!" he heard Briseis cry out.
A moment later, he felt his arm being held in her grip, her fingers desperately clutching at his forearm, attempting to hold his hand back from nothing. "What are you doing?" she whispered, her voice raw with emotion. "You promised me, you promised you would not fight him!"
Achilles quickly dropped his sword arm and turned to face Briseis, surprise etched across his every feature. "Briseis," he said gently, turning to meet her eyes. What he saw in her brown orbs stunned him. Her gaze was filled with accusation and deeper down, betrayal. Confused, Achilles gripped her hands in his own and was further shocked when she pulled away at the touch.
She took a few steps away from him, her eyes filled with hurt. "You have already taken one of my cousins. Were you not content enough by that? Did you have to attempt to take my other, and while I slept, unaware of your betrayal? What did you hope for? To kill him in the darkness of the night and lie to me of his death in the morning?"
Achilles gaped at her, his eyes widening in astonishment as realization dawned. "Briseis, I did not intend – I was not - "
"No," she said, sounding strangled, "I do not want to hear it. You are nothing more than a murderer and a liar!" Then with a dry sob, she turned away, her shoulders shaking violently. At the sound of her wrenched cries, something deep within Achilles shattered, and he shook his head, astonished at her accusations and desperate for her trust once more.
Curse the gods, his mind whispered, canting dangerously. She does not believe me.
tbc
WHEW I'm glad that's over with. As I stated in Author's Notes, this was a Supremely Hard Chapter to write, with the capital letters and all. So any criticism you guys have, any characterization continunity issues or whatnot, please feel free to offer.
britsos1: Thanks for your comments! Believe me, I'd hate to see Paris die too. ;)
DragonWraith: Kale, Kale, Kale....how could I possibly explain to you the thrill that comes from torturing favorite characters? But heeey while I might torture Paris, don't dare insult him! Thanks for the feedback (as usual) and for your interesting...perspectives...on certain aspects of the chapter.
LeanGreenBean: Ah, I must apologize here! I didn't manage an update in two days, but I hope the chapter was worth the wait. Real life just got in the way. Thank you so much for your feedback though and might you tell me what things you felt foreshadowed the ending? I'm curious to see if what I intended to foreshadow and what readers think match.
kiersten: Thank you for the review! Your feedback made me smile and it's always great to meet another myth junkie.
will'spiratelass: Apologies in advance, but I will almost always end chapters with a cliffhanger! -evil smile- It's just something the evil person within me must do. But thank you very much for the feedback! It meant a lot.
Firien Inuyasha: Thank you for the kind review!
Lady Lenna: Haha thank you very much for the comments though I'm sorry about the long wait between chapters! S I'm glad to see you enjoyed the bit of Paris-angst. That was one part I was most uncertain of in the last chapter and it's great to see that some people were touched by it. Thanks!
Kelly Kragen: Heey I always love to see people review twice! -grin- I have no idea why, but it always makes my day. Thanks so much for the comments on what you felt worked. They're always appreciated. D
baphomet: Yeap the two of them fought, but again Briseis interrupted it! Thanks for the review!
Lady Luthien: Oh boy...my LOTR one. Well that is also desperately in need of an update, but so far my muse has been haunted by thoughts of extremely hot Greek and Trojan heroes -pause as author drools- so er...I won't make promises, but I will attempt to write more to that fic.
casino rose: Ahhh I'm honored by your thorough review. Thank you so much for taking the time to voice your opinions! I kept each one in mind as I wrote the chapter. (You may notice that in the fight, there are some aspects that you suggested -grin-) I'm hoping to hear from you again! Your suggestions were fantastic.
amal: -lol- I've confused myself a lot with subplots in the past as well. With this story, it's fairly linear so I'm hoping I won't confuse myself again! Thanks also for letting me know some authors update even less than me!
walk the sky: Thank you so much for the review! It literally sent me into spasms of laughter. I can so imagine you SLASHISIZING (c) 2004 walk everything I write. -grin-
ii99: Thank you, ii99 for the vote of confidence and kind words.
NightsOfLight: Oh dear, I'm hoping I didn't lose you in Chapter 2, but thank you so much for your review! If you have any suggestions for the plot idea, please feel free to make them. I love reader suggestions. )
Arien Star: Muchos thanks for the kind words. . Yes has an annoying tendency to eat reviews (and chapters!) Once I posted ten reviews to a person's story because I thought the server was dying on me and just kept clicking the "Submit" button. Oops. X
Donna Lynn: Heh I wasn't overly fond of Paris's personality in the movie either. I'm not sure I like him very much in my fic too! o.0 It might be nice to see some more angst befall him...other than the whole "get your butt kicked by Achilles" thing, of course. Thanks for the feedback!
ElvenRanger13: Thank you for your review! I can't promise my evil muse won't kill Paris, but I'll tie my muse up in ropes to attempt to restrain her. D
orli-plushie: Noooooo nobody should have to sit alone-ly! Okay honestly, your review was what got me actually writing this chapter. -grin- So thank you very much for somehow getting through all the layers of laziness and giving me a good swift kick on this chapter.