A/N – I updated! After I have no idea how long. I hope you're proud. The chapter wasn't particularly difficult to write, I just couldn't be bothered, so sorry about that. Hope it doesn't disappoint, and enjoy!

Chapter Thirteen: Easier to Run

'It's easier to run
Replacing this pain with something numb
It's so much easier to go
Than face all this pain here all alone'

Linkin Park, 'Easier to Run'

Neoptolemus watched Briseis out of the corner of his eye as they sailed into the harbour at Phthia. The young woman stood at the edge of the ship, her hands resting lightly on the ship's rail, and her head held up: a proud defiance directed at the curious onlookers that lined the low cliffs surrounding the harbour. But Neoptolemus could see the dead, haunted look in her eyes that told him that her bravado was nothing but a show. Since her miscarriage Briseis had changed. It was as if a part of her had died. No spark of life danced in her eyes, and her voice, when she did speak, was hollow and distant. The girl he had thought he knew was long gone: in her place stood a woman, scarcely twenty, and yet whose face betrayed wisdom and sorrow far beyond her years.

Neoptolemus sighed slightly, turning away from the grieving girl, to look with remote, unfeeling eyes at his new subjects. They stared back with an equal coldness, and he already knew what whispers were going around about him, about his cruelty, his heartlessness. 'And let them talk,' a vicious part of his brain said; it wasn't as if they said anything that wasn't true. They should fear and respect him, and pray not to fall under his displeasure.

It was nearly over: the long, torturous journey that he had to endure with an untouchable beauty. Soon he would be far away from her and everything that he desired. He would be back on the sea with his men: each as merciless and ruthless as himself, and soon the new Neoptolemus; the one that desired for a woman and had the decency to hold himself back, the one who cared for the welfare of someone other than himself, would be gone, and the world would once more be at rights.

Briseis stood, her hands folded demurely over the rail in front of her, as she watched the approaching coastline of her new home. She was scared. No, she was terrified. It was the same fear that had gripped her stomach when she had come to Troy as a child, with Hector, good, kind Hector, not much more than a child then, by her side. It was the fear of new places, of new people, of the unknown. But now it was a thousand times worse. She was no longer a child, with childish fears. Now she was a woman: a woman without honour, a woman without a family, a woman without a husband, or even a lover.

If she did not look to either side she could imagine that she was coming into Phthia with Achilles and the Myrmidons. Maybe not as his wife; but she could live with that as long as he was there. She could endure any amount of shame, as long as he was by her side. He had been her strength. Strength to defy her family, to walk tall, even without honour, strength to love him. And when he was gone, she had found strength in his child. It wasn't Achilles come back to life; she knew that. But somehow she had found the will to live and the courage to carry on with her life when all she wanted to do was curl up and die, and it had come from the knowledge that she had a job to do: she had to carry Achilles' child, to raise him and to love him.

And now, what reason did she have to live? She was little more than a Trojan slave. Perhaps the people lining the harbour walls no doubt thought her to be Neoptolemus' new whore. She was worse than nothing. For one long, terrifying moment, Briseis saw her whole life opening up in front of her: she saw herself hated by Achilles' mother for being the cause of death of her son, she saw herself scorned by the people of Phthia and despised by the slaves in the palace.

But the moment passed, and Briseis' straightened up, pushing her shoulders back and raising her eyes. She would no be cowed by people who had no idea of what she had been through. She, and she alone had the right to judge herself. No one could see her thoughts: the doubts and the shame that had filled her when she had lain in Achilles' arms for the first time, later to be replaced by a tragic love for him. She would not let herself be looked on with contempt and pity. She had loved Achilles, and she made no excuses for that. She loved him still, and would probably always do so. It didn't, at that moment, matter to her whether history put her down as a whore, as a priestess who abandoned her God, or as a faithful lover. She had loved him, Gods but how she had loved him! Nothing apart from that mattered.

Thetis stood at the dock, watching the ship bearing her grandson and her son's lover to her. Her last, precious links to her beloved Achilles stood on that ship, and Thetis would treasure them, for, in nothing else, Achilles had loved them.

His death had torn her apart. She did not try to deny the fact, or hide from it. There were people who saw her as cruel and heartless, because she had sent her only son off to death on the Trojan shores. All this she knew, but still she grieved. There was no other choice: he had had to go. Did they not know that she blamed herself, every minute of every day, for his death? No. They never saw the silver tears that fell in the bitter hours of the night, when isolation loomed over her, worse than any legendary monster.

But now, like a glimmer of light in the darkness; like a faint breeze of hope in the midst of despair, came two who needed help even more than she did. Neoptolemus needed to learn to love: she had known that for a long time. And her son's mysterious lover? Well, from all accounts, Thetis thought that the woman who had stolen Achilles' heart needed to learn that love was not all that there was.

The ship docked, and Thetis' eyes immediately sought out her grandson. He was watching the sailors pull the gangplank up, his face, as usual, devoid of emotion, but Thetis could see a great weariness there, that always tore at her heart.

Neoptolemus strode down the gangplank and onto Phthian soil: land that now belonged to him, with his customary show of arrogance and pride, but Thetis saw his face soften slightly as he approached her.

"Grandmother," he greeted her, raising one hand to her lips to kiss it tenderly.

Thetis smiled back at him, her heart already warmed by his presence.

"May I introduce Lady Briseis of Troy?" he asked, letting her hand drop to turn and beckon the girl behind him up.

Thetis watched the child carefully as she approached. She saw the fear in her eyes, masked by an aloof pride that made the old woman smile inwardly. She may be terrified, but she had guts, and, Thetis supposed, laughing to herself, anyone who put up with her son would need them.

"My Lady," Briseis stepped forwards, bowing her head respectfully.

Thetis reached out one hand and lifted Briseis' face with a single finger. "Welcome home child," she said gently.

Shock, confusion, and then a deep and heartfelt gratitude crossed the young woman's face.

"Come," Thetis said, addressing both her and her grandson. "Let us go."

Neoptolemus nodded brusquely, and offered his hand to help Thetis and Briseis into the waiting carriage, before swinging himself easily up onto his horse a slave held for him, and the procession turned homeward.

Late that evening, Briseis stood on her balcony, overlooking the restless sea. Her hair was still damp from the long bath she had just taken, and she was wearing a deep blue robe, that felt soft and clean against her skin. During the voyage Briseis had not been able to wash properly, and as she only had the one dress she had never felt properly clean.

But now all traces of her old life had been washed away, and she stood, dressed in a robe of her new life. Briseis the child was long gone. In her place stood Briseis the woman.

She had eaten with Thetis and Neoptolemus that evening, but there had been little conversation: enough to make the meal comfortable, but it was obvious that none of them really wanted to speak, so most of the time had passed in silence, which suited Briseis perfectly.

She was becoming more and more pensive; she thought wryly, a trait she had always scorned in others. The first eighteen years of her life she had concentrated on the future, believing that although the past was important, dwelling on it would never bring anything other than regret.

And yet she had spent the time since she had left the warmth of Achilles' bed doing nothing but remembering it. Remembering his touch on her skin, his kisses, the husky note of his voice, and hating herself more every moment she was unable to forget him.

She was startled out of her reverie by a soft tap on the door in the room behind her. A slave girl, a couple of years younger than herself, stood in the doorway shyly, although the paranoid part of Briseis' mind was telling her that she was staring at 'Neoptolemus' and Achilles' whore' with undisguised interest.

"What is it?" Briseis asked wearily, knowing that she was being unreasonable about the attention people were paying to her, and trying not to take it out on the girl who stood before her.

"My Lady Thetis wants to know if you be willing to speak with her," the girl said, her eyes downcast. Briseis imagined that someone had instructed the slaves to treat her with respect, and not as one of their own.

"Of course," Briseis replied, inwardly groaning. All she wanted was to be left alone, although she could hardly say that to her host.

The slave girl curtsied and left the room. Briseis stood still for a moment, wondering whether she was to seek out Thetis, but her momentary confusion was soon stilled, as Thetis stepped into the room, smiling at Briseis.

"The harbour looks magnificent, doesn't it?" she commented, nodding towards the view from Briseis balcony through the curtained doors.

Briseis turned around, slightly surprised. "I hadn't really noticed," she said honestly. But she did see the splendour of the view now that it had been pointed out to her. It was early evening, and the sun was just sinking in all it's fiery brilliance, turning the calm water to a riot of colours, and the sky to a gently pink. "I suppose it is, isn't it?" she agreed, turning back to see Thetis regarding her intently.

"I hope," the older woman was saying. "That we can be friends. My son loved you, my grandson loves you, and even without knowing that I can trust their judgement, I can see that you are a very strong woman."

"Strong?" Briseis said faintly. "I'm not strong."

"Not strong?" Thetis asked with an amused expression on her face. "You have to be strong to love my son, to leave your home, to come to an unknown land with unknown people. You are stronger than you realise."

"If I was strong I wouldn't have given in to Achilles," Briseis said, angry at herself, and angry at Thetis for saying things that cut so close to her heart.

"My son forced you?" Thetis asked quietly.

"No!" Briseis answered immediately. "No, of course not. He would never. But I still should have resisted him. I was a priestess!"

"Child, if the Gods had decided that Achilles would steal your heart, no power on earth would help you to resist that. Do not turn your back on the Gods because you fear that they have turned their backs on you."

Briseis looked up sharply, unshed tears glistening bright in her eyes. "Of course the Gods have abandoned me!" she said, more brusquely than she had intended. "I betrayed them."

"Even the Gods can forgive. Perhaps even more than you mortals can."

It was then that Briseis remembered the rumours that Thetis was a nymph, and she bowed her head again, although a new hope stirred in her heart. It had been harder to turn her back on the Gods than anyone had given her credit for, and, though she tried, she could not dim the spark of hope that they were still perhaps with her.

"Now, as I have taken in, I believe that I have the right to ask you a question," Thetis said in a businesslike voice.

Briseis looked up warily, but nodded her head.

"What is there between you and my grandson?"

"Neoptolemus?" Briseis asked, genuinely surprised. "Nothing."

Thetis, watching her carefully, saw no lie in her eyes, and nodded her head, but Briseis' mind was suddenly buzzing. Could it be that grief had blinded her? Now that it had been pointed out to her, it seemed so obvious. The way he looked at her, his tone of voice when he spoke with her, the way she had seemed to be the only one on the planet whom he had cared for.

"And there never will be anything there. I stay true to Achilles, and Achilles alone," she added, fiercely.

"Do not say that," Thetis said gently. "It is not a crime to find comfort in another man's arms when your own lover is long dead."

Briseis shook her head. "Have you ever noticed," she asked softly. "That when you lose something you loved, it is sometimes harder to replace them, because no matter how close the replica may be to the original, it can never be the one you truly loved?"

Thetis nodded slowly and sighed. "It is your own decision, your own life," she said. "But I beg of you, talk to my grandson. He needs to learn to love, but it will hurt him even more if you never speak of it."

Briseis nodded. "I'll speak to him first thing tomorrow morning," she promised.

When Briseis went down to eat breakfast with Thetis the next morning she was told that Neoptolemus had left at dawn with his crew, and no one knew when he was likely to return.