Hey there guys! I'm so impressed with myself that I actually managed to get this chapter up when I said I would! Admittedly I should be spending this time doing my Spanish homework, but I'm not going to get reviews for that, lol.

Thank you to Tiffany, Amanda-Kay and Gaby for your reviews – I think I replied to everyone else, but if I didn't I'm sorry that I left you out! You are so much appreciated :D

Ok, about this chapter – Briseis doesn't feature in this one, because I wanted to get some other perspectives in, but do not fear! She will return with a vengeance in chapter four. I wasn't too sure about the end bit – I didn't know if I should have put in anything about Achilles' feelings, but then again I think that it will be important for you guys to see how he's feeling to understand something later. Anyway, tell me what you think about it all please!

Chapter Three: The Pain I Feel Inside

'I try not to think about that pain I feel inside,

Did you know you used to be my hero?'

Simple Plan, 'Perfect'

Paris stood over his brother's body, now cleaned and princely once more. And yet it was not grief he felt for Hector, instead, rage coursed through his veins. Rage for Hector's killer, but also rage for the whole of Greece. Greece had taken his brother from him, had made his cousin a broken woman, had killed so many of his kinsmen. And, Paris swore, by the Gods he would make Greece pay, if it cost him everything he held dear.

He heard a soft step behind him, but did not move, and moments later two slender while arms snaked around his waist, and a golden head rested on his shoulder.

"He knew the risks he was taking," Helen said softly to her lover, her voice full of pain for Paris' grief.

Paris said nothing, but his hands moved up to cover hers, and she knew her pathetic attempt at comfort had been appreciated. They stood there, silent and unmoving, for some time, both with their own thoughts, and yet seeking reassurance in the warmth of the other's body. Finally, Helen spoke once more. "King Priam wishes to see you," she told him.

Paris showed no signs of having heard for a minute, but then Helen felt, rather than heard, him sigh, and his shoulders straightened as he turned to face her. He kissed her briefly on the forehead, and closed his eyes. It was moments like these, he thought, that he knew no matter how the war went, he would do it all a thousand times over for her.

"I'll see you back in my chambers," he told her, pulling away.

Helen nodded, her eyes, full of concern, searching his face for some clue as to what was going through his mind. But Paris, usually so extravagant in his emotions, had learnt to hide them in the last few days. He was Troy's Prince now, and it would not do for the Trojans to see weakness in the eyes of their Prince.

"You called for me father?" Paris asked, standing in the doorway to the great hall. Priam was in front of the huge statue of the God, but he was not praying, instead, he was just looking at it, a sad expression on his face.

"Yes," he answered when he heard Paris' voice, turning around. "I wanted to talk to you about Briseis."

Paris blinked, slightly surprised. He had not expected his uncle to ask him for counsel in such matters, but, then again, he had taken Hector's place, and he knew that the old King relied on Hector heavily for any advice.

"What about her?" he asked, moving further into the room.

"She refuses to return to the temple," Priam told his son.

"You would allow her to?" Paris asked, shocked that his father would bend the rules, and let a woman no longer a virgin serve as a priestess.

"She…she has suffered greatly. I thought it would make it easier for her to go back to serving the Gods, that they could give her the comfort that I fear I cannot."

"You cannot make her," Paris reasoned.

"I know," Priam said, and in that moment he looked very old. "I do not know what she was forced to endure in the Greek camp, but…Paris I must tell you, I found her in Achilles' tent."

Paris' reaction was immediate. A hissed curse escaped his lips, and his hands clenched so tightly by his sides that his knuckles went white.

"I wanted to make sure that you make him pay for what he has done, both for Hector's sake and Briseis'. I am an old man, or else I would challenge him myself. Avenge the death of Hector and the rape of Briseis, my son."

"I will make him curse the day he came to Troy," Paris swore

Priam nodded slowly. He had no wish to send his son to his death, but he knew that rage was a very powerful ally.

"Thank you," he said to his son.

Paris raised his eyes to meet his fathers, and saw there, for the first time, real pride. Paris suddenly realised that, in all the years that he had been Hector's little brother, his father had never been so proud of him as he was now. He had always been second best: he couldn't run as fast as Hector, fight as well, offer such good advice, but now, now Hector was not there for him to be compared with, and Paris finally had a chance to prove himself: to prove to the world that he was a true Prince of Troy.

"I won't fail you Father," he said, his voice thick with emotion.

Priam nodded again. "Make Troy proud."

Paris held the old king's penetrating gaze for a moment, before turning and leaving the great hall. He walked down the corridors as the sun was rising: the light illuminating the darkness and casting a golden glow onto the walls. Light, and hope, were returning to Troy.

In the Greek camps, however, darkness reigned. Agamemnon and Achilles were once more at war, and the camp trembled when the two met. Odysseus walked slowly along the beach towards Achilles tent. The brief twelve-day break was much welcomed by the soldiers who sat about on the sand, sharpening swords and cleaning armour, but mostly talking, laughing and trying to pretend that they wouldn't return to the thin line between life and death in a few short days. A few of them nodded to, or hailed the King as he passed, but most ignored him, lost in their own worlds.

As Odysseus approached Achilles' tent as dawn streaked the skyline, he saw the warlord sitting on the sand outside his tent, sharpening his sword with slow, firm strokes. Achilles had not slept since Priam had taken his niece away, and in the depths of his heart he did not know how he would ever sleep again without the soft body of Briseis in his arms.

To an outsider there looked to be nothing wrong with the sight of Achilles in front of his tent, however Odysseus had knows Achilles for years, and he knew, from the whiteness of Achilles' knuckles as he grasped the sword, and the vein throbbing in his forehead, that Achilles was in far from a placid frame of mind.

Alerted by the sound of footsteps, Achilles looked up as Odysseus approached, and met the older man's eyes for a moment before looking back down at the weapon on his lap, and continuing his work.

Odysseus sighed inwardly, he hated trying to talk to Achilles in a bad mood. He sat himself down on the sand a couple of feet away from the brooding warlord, and just watched him for a moment. Long ago, had worked out that the best way of dealing with Achilles when he was like this was to just wait for him to speak. Achilles did not fail him, and after a moment, he put down the sword and turned to the King.

"Do you come from Agamemnon?" he asked in a flat voice.

Odysseus shook his head. "No. Not everything I do is at Agamemnon's request."

Achilles nodded and looked away, out across the calm sea. "I hear you have had an idea for getting into Troy."

"Yes," Odysseus said in a wary voice, unsure of Achilles' sentiments when it came to attacking Troy. He had, after all, been willing to abandon the war for a woman that was now inside the city. "I am going to Troy tomorrow to discuss the terms of the truce," he told Achilles.

The reaction was immediate. Achilles snapped his head up, his eyes, which had been so flat and dead before, suddenly blazing with a thousand emotions. These, however, flickered and died in the short time that he was looking at Odysseus, and when he did eventually speak, all he said was, "Oh."

He wanted to ask Odysseus to take a message to her, to see if she was alright, to find out whether she looked happy now she was back in her home with her family, but he was not a man who could admit emotion for others easily, and so he did not speak.

Odysseus was not called the wisest man in Greece for nothing, however, and he read all of his friend's doubts and fears in his eyes. He knew, perhaps, more than Achilles had even admitted to himself, and, to be honest, he feared the outcome of Achilles' feelings for the priestess. But Achilles was his friend, after all, and he would do all he could to ease the mind of the warlord.

Odysseus stood and paused, searching for the right words. He gave up, however, and simply gripped Achilles' shoulder before heading off back down the beach. Achilles looked up and watched the King leaving, jealousy that he would the next day be in the same city as the priestess, burning in his heart.