Abduction of A Princess
By: Sheiado

Author's Note: Well, I told yalls that I'd get back to it! And yes, I have had the idea of Patroclus/OC since the beginning (there are so few of them and I wanted to be fully happy with more in this story! Lol). More surprises to come, Muhahahaha! Enjoy!

Chapter Eleven: A Thoughtful Process

To her amazement, the warrior had kept his word to her and Briseis slowly became less wary in his presence. She helped him when he graciously asked, whether it was with armor or stitching, or when there was a chore for her to attend to that kept her busy for the remainder of the day. Other than that she cooked, cleaned, or mended the wounds of Myrmidon soldiers returning from battle.

She was given admittance outside the tent if she wished, both for bathing purposes and for her own leisure. Achilles seemed to understand that remaining secluded in a tent for days on end would most assuredly drive anyone to the brink of madness. So, he let her go as far as the stream routed near the Myrmidon camp.

She ventured out sometimes on her own, finding the salty air and the gentle paddle of rippling water soothing. She would sit or sometimes scrub clothes while she thought of Troy and of Hector; sometimes she would even sit and ponder her life as it was now. She needed it, for making directional decisions on her life would most certainly have far-reaching consequences. Did she dare run to home or stay in this new life given to her?

Returning to her family was an option now hopeless to her for she had little confidence in confronting them than she did before. Her life would remain in ruins; she had no prosperous aspect for a Lord in marriage and she bore a mark looked down upon even by servants. Her dream had revealed a little truth in its message but it had also left out one single, simple fact; it would be herself that locks her away. She wanted to be unmarried to a man, but not under these circumstances. No one would take the word of her chastity to become a priestess and so, her life was now out of her hands.

Her family, her loving uncle and her favorite cousin who served more as a brother to her were among those that she would most assuredly miss. But she couldn't stand the idea of things changing from what they use to be. And if she returned in her present state, things would never come close to being the same again. Perhaps her life as a slave would have a less enclosed aspect to it?

If her masters were evil, she would put preference to death or a gloomy, ruined life in Troy. However, she had little complaint towards the one who possessed her now; he was kind to her and not the dumb, Greek brute she had originally presumed him to be. He was one of the most handsome men she had ever laid eyes on, that fact she couldn't deny. But Briseis refused to degrade herself from slave to concubine and nobles, warlords even, would most certainly not want a serious, faithful relationship to a slave. And she would not cheapen herself any further.

He could have many women, most possessing far more beauty than herself and in the workings of societal station, he would choose a woman of great stature and beauty. She was now a slave and slaves, when bedded, were used and discarded later. After all, Paris himself had once told her when he was but a young boy of growing age and her still a child, "Slaves are not meant to be married and faithful to. They, er… have their uses, Briseis, but quite frankly, servants aren't even all that fond to marrying them. Do you understand what I'm telling you?"

They rarely spoke to one another, as he was gone by daybreak and returned late after sunset. She was fast asleep by his return and all work she performed throughout the day was finally finished by then. Sometimes Briseis would think that she felt the stare of his eyes, piercing sapphire on her, but quickly dismissed it for it was wishful thinking. She would be his on this island and likely wherever else he chose to move next, but he would never be hers. She had no claim over anything and she wouldn't dare to presume that he had an attraction to her.

Her direction of thinking was suddenly becoming unsettling and ruining what was to be her "pleasurable quiet time" alone. 'Stop thinking of the depressed chaos that your life has fallen into, Briseis'.

Water dripped and trickled down in fat, heavy droplets along the curve of her shoulder and the smooth slope of her back as she wringed out the cloth fully soaked and laden with the cool, tumbling liquid flowing at her feet. Her back was exposed and she was careful to remove one item at a time for she wished not to have a man walk in on her while she was bathing.

She washed herself in silence, her thoughts moving from her family, her old life, and her new one, to the camp of Agamemnon. Had Lalianes made it out alright? Were she and the others being treated with care? The questions began to worry her and she could not check to ease her mind for the camp of Agamemnon was a far walk and, if she were to venture there, there was no sure guarantee of her protection. She cared not of punishment but the risks involved in trespassing onto the Mycenae soldier camp. There were far too many to sneak past through.

Biting her lip, Briseis adjusted her clothing, now completely satisfied and thoroughly cleaned. She would have to figure out something. Hopefully by daybreak tomorrow…

She picked up her discarded clothes and basket, her eyes glazed and her mind deep in worry and agitation. Once again, she had been caught off guard by simple qualms, for a pair of eyes watched her closely and seemed to follow almost her every move.

()()()()()()()()()()()

She had spent the remainder of the day trying to compose a decent plan and now that it was daybreak of the next morning, she still had a few complications in great need of adjusting. She needed to get out from the Myrmidon encampment unnoticed and she would have to return before dusk alive.

'Gods, why does misfortune always seem to follow me?' Briseis wondered, her feet silently moving out of her early morning stream wash toward Achilles' tent. She had to do it by at least the next morn, as another victory had been won and Achilles would no longer be gone for the whole hours of day. He would be with her more and that meant she would be under his watch often. For now she was on her own with a few Myrmidons guarding the camp and what was left of the army's wounded.

Sighing heavily, Briseis made her way back, her lips curving into a smile as she spotted Calaus running swiftly through the sands, his father's axe wielded in his hands. Calaus was far too young for battle, as he had told her while she was patching up the wounded when she met him, but his father had to bring him because he had no one back home to care for him. While staying with the Myrmidons, he was tutored eagerly by his father's comrades and was told battle stories around the night fires.

Briseis sometimes chatted with him, finding his innocent and upbeat demeanor intoxicating. Being around him often lifted an emotional burden off of her shoulders, at least for a few moments at a time. She could concentrate on something that didn't involve life trials, loss, politics, and war. And unlike most, the boy cared less that she was a slave.

The men in the encampment kept their distance from her, with the exception of Eudorus who, through relentless teasing, loved driving her to the brink of aggravation. Few, other than the soldiers treated by her, spoke or actually conversed with her. It wasn't something that she minded terribly but sometimes it was lonely; she no longer had Lalianes to keep her company.

"Calaus, be careful," Briseis called softly, walking with a smile. The boy grinned back, his arms waving at her before treading off again.

"Boys," Briseis chuckled. He reminded her of Paris. Paris loved nothing more than to cause mischief and get into trouble, there was no exception with how far his plans would go and Briseis couldn't keep count with how many times he had gotten her into trouble with her Uncle or Hector. Hector, of course, cared not of what she actually did. His blame always fell toward Paris and not her, much to his younger brother's chagrin.

"Why do you always go after ME? Why don't you ever punish Briseis?!"

"Because she isn't the one prone to causing complete chaos within the walls of Troy, Paris! Everything you do has your name practically chiseled onto it!"

Shaking her head at the memories, both happy and painful, Briseis padded into the tent, her feet moving toward the bed of furs where she slept. She piled what supplies she needed, needles, threads, bandages, and herbs, to tend to the wounded and scooped it up into a single pouch of cow hide.

'That should do it,' she thought to herself, happy that she had managed to find just the right herbs needed. The teachings Cassandra had given her when she was but a child had finally come into some use.

She placed the medicine pouch atop the furs, her head moving toward the back wall to check if there were any more bandages she could use. She stopped her movements altogether, noticing a foreboding shadow standing near the tent flaps.

Briseis gasped as she turned, her feet backing up cautiously from the intruder.

"Hello, pretty."

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