A/N – As always, thank you to everyone who's updated, it means so much to me that you guys are reading this! Thanks specially to Amanda-Kay: I LOVED your reaction – it made me chuckle :D

Not much to say about this chapter, except I'm sorry it's so short! Oh, and at the end – imagine Briseis like Arwen is in 'The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King' when she's imagining her future after Aragorn's died. Do you know when she's standing beside his grave with the wind blowing the veil back? Anyway, that's how I see Briseis then. I'm taking it for granted that you've all seen The Lord of the Rings, and if you haven't – you should! It's such a great trilogy. Anywho, that enough of me talking about other films, this is a Troy fanfic, right?

Enjoy :-)

Chapter Six: Who Wants to Live Forever?

'There's no time for us,
There's no place for us,
What is this thing that builds our dreams,

Yet slips away from us?'

Queen, 'Who wants to live forever?'

Odysseus mentally steeled himself as he approached Achilles' tent. Though he had left Troy at midday, it was almost dusk, for he had been obliged to spend the entire afternoon in Agamemnon's presence, and so this would be the first time he saw Achilles since his return from the golden city.

He entered Achilles' tent to find the warlord sitting on his bed, sharpening his blade with long, rasping strokes that made the hairs on Odysseus' neck stand on end.

"You're back," Achilles drawled languidly, not looking up, but Odysseus had known Achilles far too long to be deceived by his show of indifference.

Odysseus sat down and poured himself a cup of wine. If his instincts were right, and he prided himself on the fact that they usually were, then he would be needing it before long.

"So what did the old king say?" Achilles asked lazily, still not looking up from the sword.

"Oh," Odysseus shrugged. "The usual. No combat for twelve days, no Trojan will try to leave Troy until the truce has ended. Nothing particularly new."

Achilles only grunted in reply, continuing his work, but Odysseus could see the internal struggle going on inside him.

"I saw her," he affirmed, answering the unspoken question and saving Achilles from the indignity of having to ask about a slave girl.

Achilles' reaction was immediate. His head snapped up, his eyes momentarily blazing, though with what, Odysseus did not know, for the emotion was gone as quickly as it arrived.

"How was she?" he asked thickly, both longing for and dreading the reply.

"Alright," Odysseus said cautiously, not wanting to insult his friend by lying to him, but equally reluctant to tell the truth for fear of the warlord's reaction. "She is…she seemed unhappy," he told Achilles, who was impatiently waiting for information. "I think that she was very angry with Paris," he finished, all-too aware of how inadequate his description of Briseis' state was. But how could he tell Achilles of how she had clung to him, weeping? How could he say him that she missed him? Or that she was regretting her return to Troy.

Achilles' eyes went flat and angry at Odysseus' words. "If they are treating her badly…" he growled.

"Achilles," Odysseus interrupted, knowing that he could no longer put off the inevitable. "There's something you should know."

Achilles' eyes narrowed, worried by the tone of Odysseus' voice. "What?" he asked carefully.

"Paris challenges you to one-on-one combat," Odysseus said slowly. "Because…because you raped his cousin."

Achilles did not react for a moment, but sat, immobilised by shock. But when he did more, it was with a black anger. "The bitch!" he said furiously, standing up violently, and ignoring the sword that had been resting on his lap as it fell to the ground with a bull thud. "You know I didn't rape her!" he demanded of Odysseus.

The old king nodded quietly, understanding the cause of Achilles' anger. The younger man had once told him that he had three rules by which he lived. Other men set themselves standards and then fell far below them, but not Achilles. He had very few beliefs, but what he did believe in, he would rather die than turn back on. Achilles had taken thousands of years of great philosophers' works, and compressed it into three simple rules for his life. Firstly: never cause undue suffering in battle. And as far as Odysseus knew, he had stuck by this, for Achilles always killed quickly and cleanly. Secondly: never kill priests or children. Again, Odysseus knew that he had never gone back on this. Thirdly: never rape a woman. Not, Odysseus thought, that he had ever had any trouble with this: women were usually tripping over each other trying to get into his bed. And so Odysseus understood, to at least some extent, his friend's rage.

"Why?" Achilles rounded on Odysseus. "Why would she do that?"

"She's scared, and frightened," Odysseus said, his soothing voice doing little to mollify Achilles' temper. "She's probably going through Hades right now, and all her family are telling her that it wasn't her fault that she was raped. She's confused, and the last thing that she wants to do at the moment is stand up to her family."

But Achilles was not listening. He could not hear Odysseus' voice through the memory of her lying in his arms on that first night, sobbing softly to herself, unaware that he was awake. Could it be that she had never felt anything but hatred and disgust for him? That she only showed affection because she was scared? He had never wanted to hurt her, and had she but let him know, then he would not have touched her again.

His emotions, which had only a few short seconds ago been of pity for her, and hatred for himself, turned sharply around. The stupid, silly girl! Had she any idea of what she was doing? Why? He could not understand it. Why would she sit back and watch her cousin and lover fight again. He had to know. The desperate desire for understanding took up his whole being. He had to know.

"Achilles?" Odysseus was asking carefully, watching his friend pace up and down, a myriad of emotions crossing his face. "Achilles!" Finally the pacing warlord heard, and turned, his eyes dead, to face Odysseus.

He shook his head slowly. "Why?" he eventually asked in a hoarse voice. "Why would she do that?"

"She's scared, Achilles," Odysseus told him, trying to get through to him, but he could see that Achilles as not listening. The big man ignored him, but stopped pacing abruptly and turned towards the entrance of the tent.

"Where are you going?" Odysseus asked, standing up, but Achilles ignored him and left the tent, ducking slightly to go through the flap.

"Achilles!" Odysseus shouted, leaving the tent himself and watching Achilles disappear into the night. "Don't be such a fool!" But his words went unheeded, and a few moments later, Achilles' shape had been swallowed up by the darkness.

"Bloody hell," Odysseus said, draining the goblet of wine that he was holding. "Bloody hell."

Back in Troy, Briseis had no idea of the trouble she was causing in the Greek camp. She was dealing with troubles enough of her own.

Briseis had left Paris and Odysseus that morning in a dull rage, directed primarily at Paris, but also at her family, everyone in Troy, and even the Gods for having abandoned her. Unwilling to obey Paris by remaining in her room like an obedient girl, she had taken a veil and left the palace to go into the city.

She did not attract much attention, for women veiled in black were an all-too common sight on the streets of Troy, and she was finally free to go wherever she wanted without her every movement being watched and judged. She had wandered aimlessly through the city streets for a few hours, drifting around the market stalls and just enjoying the feeling of the sun soaking through her thin veil and enveloping her in warmth.

Eventually her wanderings found her on the city wall, looking out towards the Greek encampment. It was always the same, she thought idly, no matter how she tried to escape from everything, she still found herself returning to look back at him.

Briseis stood on the wall that surrounded the city, staring numbly out towards the sea, oblivious to the wind that was beginning to pick up, lifting her veil and sweeping it back across her face. Dimly, Briseis wondered whether he was down there, what he was doing, whether he thought of her…whether he even remembered the slave girl who had shared his life and his bed for those few precious days.

And they were precious. Briseis was only just beginning to realise how precious they had really been. And she knew, now, that she would not have left him when Priam had come for Hector's body if she was given the choice now.

For all the pain that he had caused her, Achilles had also taught Briseis to live. Before she had been an obedient niece, a loving cousin, and a devoted priestess, but she had never really lived. Before him, she had never felt emotion. Yes, she had laughed, she had cried, but she had not felt the pain and the ecstasy as her heart was ripped, still beating, from her chest when she looked into those blue eyes, she had not know what it was to soar beyond the realms of human pleasure, or to fall through a endless night of anguish and despair, with no one to catch her.

There were times when she hated him, with every ounce of her being, but this never really lasted. How was it possible to hate the man who had given you life? And so Briseis stood as the shadows lengthened and the sun sank low in the sky, staring out towards the darkening sea, and wondering what she had done that the Gods had cursed her so.