Disclaimer: I still own nothing. Want to own Achilles. He's been dead for thousands of years. Sucks to be me.

wild-vixen: thanks for the compliment; I know what you mean, I'm trying not to turn Petra into a Mary Sue (someone shoot me in the head if I do, I willingly volunteer myself). She has some problems coming up soon, don't worry (for instance, look at this chapter—who do you think's going to be at the beach when the Greeks arrive?) I would argue, however, that an arranged marriage would be a pretty horrible fate… Petra is a lot like Eowyn in Lord of the Rings, so they have similar crisis.

moonrider: aww, thanks, honey. I'm glad you like it!

Siyavash: I dunno about the pet names, it matches Homer's style and almost every family has pet names for each other… I tried to keep them not that nonsensical or cheesy, but I'll try to avoid that from now on . Yes, she's spoiled—she's a princess, what do you expect? And I'm trying to have her family try to gently bring her to earth. Just wait until she meets the Greeks, though. That's going to have some interesting effects on her.

Ok, on with the story. . .

Dinner started badly. Despite the royal family welcoming Helen, the other nobles openly snubbed the former Spartan queen. Few actually spoke to her, and the significant ignoring started to take its toll on the young woman's brave front.

In his efforts to produce harmony, Priam had set Paris and Helen on his left, with Hector and Andromache at his other side. Petra sat directly at her father's side, where she could be safe from the councilmen's vicious tongues and their sons' over-amorous overtures. Priam wished for them to leave the table unscathed.

At one point, Helen tried to smile at one nobleman who made brief eye contact, only to earn a scowl and pointed glance away to the wall above her head for her troubles. Her head drooped further down. From her point of view at the end of the table, Petra watched Helen visibly wilt.

This won't do. Desperate times called for desperate measures, she reminded herself, inhaling slowly in preparation before launching her attack.

Down the table, Hector conversed with Priam and frowned at his father's words. "As much as I love Paris's current happiness," Priam was saying, "I cannot help but wonder if this will make matters worse towards Petra. The head priest has already spoken about an alliance with the Greeks through her, to apologize for this disgrace."

"To who?" Hector demanded. "Menelaus? He'll spear her head to his gates! Odysseus and Nestor are married…"

"Achilles isn't," Priam mused out loud.

Hector dropped his knife, his eyes turning from worried to rock. His voice rocked through his father's calm façade, temporarily alarming Priam. "Never. I will never let that murdering wretch within ten feet of her. I'll see his corpse in front of our gates first!"

"We eventually may have little choice," Priam reminded his son.

"There is always a choi—OUCH!"

Hector suddenly let out a startling yelp that caused every head to turn in his direction with surprise. Hector glanced suspiciously at a complacent Paris, whose attention at that point was directed at his new wife.

"Don't pinch me!" Hector whispered harshly at his younger brother.

"What?" Paris asked, bewildered. Helen, distracted from her current woes by this unusual display, looked equally puzzled.

Petra inwardly cheered at this exhibition by her siblings while her outward countenance was that of confusion and dismay at their lack of table manners. Priam looked between his two sons with a frown of displeasure at this new development.

Across the table, Briseis coughed into her long sleeve to disguise her giggles and Andromache bit back a smile. Helen wondered if the entire royal family of Troy had lost their collective minds. Then she noticed the innocent, absorbed expression on Petra's face. A slow smile curved over her lips as she sat back to watch what else her younger sister-in-law had cooked up.

Hector's silent battle of accusing looks with Paris ended, but Hector still looked wary when he returned to his father.

"You should know better than this, Hector," his father reprimanded in a grumble. Before Hector could protest, his father held up a hand. "I know you haven't seen us in a while, but that is no reason for a lack of bad manners."

"Father!"

"Quiet!" Priam's voice held an edge of thunder that his children knew better than to arouse. Petra even squirmed in her seat, earning herself an evil eye. She fingered her spoon absently. "Now, Hector…"

Suddenly, a lone pea flew into the air and beamed Paris on the cheek.

Heaving, Paris shot to his feet and glared at his older brother. "I didn't do anything!" he snapped angrily at Hector. "Stop making meaningless retaliations towards me!"

Hector paused, eyebrows furrowed at Paris' accusation. "What?" Priam looked equally confused now.

Paris threw his knife down. "I never did anything to you, and I would appreciate it if you would stop-" His words were cut off when Briseis dissolved into helpless laughter, sliding from her chair to the floor as she wiped tears off her cheeks. When he heard the suspicious sounds of giggles at his side, he turned to see Helen cupping a hand over her smiling mouth.

Both brothers' eyes met, then they looked suspiciously over at Petra. She was frowning at Briseis' terrible behavior before returning to her own food.

Priam arched an eyebrow at his youngest but kept silent.

A silent exchange occurred again between the brothers, but this time Paris and Hector slowly sat back and pretended to continue their separate conversations. Only this time, Hector's hand slowly slid underneath the table.

Down the table, a noble grimaced at the antics of the high table. His snobbish expression withered when Priam met his eyes with a displeased puckered brow.

Petra saw her brothers' looks and smirked. Think you'll catch me again? She only casually crossed her legs and took a bite of her baklava.

Suddenly, something cold splashed down her leg.

"HECTOR!" she shrieked, jumping up and shaking her skirts. Apparently, Hector smuggled some water under the table and kicked it onto her legs, soaking the front of her skirts.

Priam could not contain his amusement at his children's antics any longer. His shaking shoulders and gruff laughter attracted everyone's attention, but he only shook off any assistance offered by the servants at his elbow.

Helen stared at the royal family with bewildered amusement.

Andromache took pity on Helen's confusion and leaned over. "It's sort of a game between them," she explained. "When they were little, Paris and Petra tried to see who could get Hector into trouble first, and if he could catch who started it."

"And it's grown into an intricate competition since then," Helen finished, understanding now. She shook her head lovingly at her husband.

Petra winked at Helen, pretending innocence yet again when Paris glanced over to see what took his wife's attention away from him. He, however, retaliated by elbowing his sister, who promptly returned the action.

"You two behave," Hector ordered sternly across the table.

Rolling her eyes, Petra looked over at Helen. "But it's not nearly as amusing when I do, is it?" she implored. Helen only shook her head, refusing to get involved with family arguments this early.

But Andromache gave her an encouraging smile across the table. Feeling a bit of her courage returning, Helen smiled back shyly.

"I admit, I rarely see families anymore," she confessed. "I only see soldiers and their squabbling usually." Helen's glow faded a bit at the memory: every night having soldiers leer at her when Menelaus was distracted, seeing him openly ogle dancing girls and even let them seduce him in front of her, crying herself to sleep every single night…

"This can hardly be an improvement," Petra observed before adding with a wicked grin, "You have two bulls butting heads back and forth." Hector and Paris started to protest loudly before Priam cut in.

"Petra, stop teasing your brothers; dinner is over," Priam smoothly said, standing to signal the end of the meal.

Everyone else stood after the king's example, with men down the table bowing to each other and leaving. Only the two princes remained sitting as they entreated at their father.

"Bu… but…" Paris looked longingly at the remainder of his dessert.

"Father," Hector pleaded, "Paris and I haven't finished. We were a bit," he glared at Petra, "distracted."

"That is entirely your fault for rising to her bait," Priam said sternly, "good evening."

"But-"

Priam raised a hand, gesturing everyone out of the dining hall. Hector started to frown, when Andromache slipped the rest of his dessert into a spare piece of linen from the table. He smiled at his wife, kissing her cheek before offering his arm and escorting her out.

Helen, seeing Andromache's actions, copied the gesture, earning herself a smile and kiss. Petra smirked at her brother as he and his wife walked away.

Offering his daughter his arm, Priam murmured, "Was this episode worth the trouble you'll receive from the council tomorrow?"

"I can handle the council. Helen shouldn't have to so soon."

"Ah." Priam strolled down the hallway, looking down fondly at Petra. "I'm very proud of your actions towards her today, my love."

Petra shrugged. "She's family now."

"Yes," Priam said absently, "family." He paused at the doorway to an outdoor alcove, looking out at the garden there.

"Father?" Petra hesitated. "May I speak to you?"

Priam nodded, surprised. "Certainly." They walked outside, to one of the benches where Priam helped her sit. Taking a seat next to his daughter, Priam prompted her when she yet again wavered. "Well?"

"I would like to maybe visit the temple when Briseis returns," Petra spoke hesitantly. "I would like to seek some guidance."

"Guidance?" Priam knit his brow. "On what, Petra?"

"On where Apollo wishes me to go." Priam nodded with understanding. Petra sighed and looked down at her feet. "The council is making things harder for you, Father. I cannot stand that."

"Petra." She looked up at him, and he chucked her chin gently. "I have dealt with the council since before you were born, and I will have to deal with them for as long as I am king. Do not make any unwise decisions on account of them, dear."

"That's what Andromache said," she admitted.

"Your sister is a wise woman." Priam stared out at the sky thoughtfully. "But I am not one to pull you away from asking the gods for assistance. I will make sure you have an escort to the temple in five days."

"I would like to leave early," she added, "perhaps at dawn."

Priam nodded. "I shall speak to your cousin tonight." Priam stood and paused. "I am very proud of you," he said gently, "and I never want you to forget that."

"Yes, Father." She let him kiss her forehead, but fell into contemplative silence once alone.

The Aegean Sea, Night

I wonder if when all is done
Anyone heard my voice
But from the start, we have no choice
Our journeys just begin

"If you go to Troy, glory will be yours. They will write stories about your victories for thousands of years. The world will remember your name. But if you go to Troy, you will never come home, for your glory walks hand in hand with your doom, and I shall never see you again…"

Thetis' words echoed through her son's head repeatedly, despite every attempt he made at sleeping. Finally tossing his blanket to the side heatedly, Achilles slipped a loin guard around his waist and took a walk.

Outside, the cool breeze made him shiver slightly, but it reminded him of the reasons he had taken this voyage. His eternal glory awaited him.

Despite Agamemnon's pigheadedness and dishonorable intentions towards any city he conquered, Achilles was on a ship in the middle of the sea, heading towards the war of a lifetime, knowing that somehow he would meet his eternal fate on the land of Priam and his people.

Glory and doom. He would vanish into dust and wind from a burning pyre here, but his name would always be remembered.

Was it worth the price? He glanced behind himself, as if he could see through the wooden boards to below decks where his cousin slept. He would not live to see Patroclus gain victories and trophies. He would not leave his own line of family behind him.

Even now he could see his mother's face as she watched his ship disappear from the shores of Phtia, and the sadness in her eyes.

I'll never know if I was right
Did I fight hard enough?
Or when the battles grew to rough
Should I have given in?
But here I stand and swear to you
I did the best that I could do

The dark blue of the sea captivated his attention. When he was young, his father would take him on one of the ships and sail around the harbors, letting Achilles hang near the edge and watch the thick water kick up and smooth over again, as if by magic. When their adventure for the day was complete, they would return to have Thetis waiting with dinner and seashells to make into necklaces for young Achilles.

He stared at the water, sighing deeply. In his heart, he regretted letting go of the other life his mother had seen for him. Despite his philandering ways, Achilles had always secretly planned to find some woman, settle down, and start a family.

But none of the women of his travels even tempted him for anything other than a quick roll in the hay. None of them challenged him; none of them showed any remote intelligence outside of court gossip and flirting; none of them could possibly grab his attention for more than an evening.

Firmly, he resolved not to find a female companion during his time in Troy. He would rather die alone than with some wailing woman he did not even give two thoughts to grieving over his corpse, making herself part of his legend. He inwardly winced at the thought. No, celibacy would be best for him here in Troy.

I know my voice was just a whisper
But someone may have heard
There were nights the moon above me stirred
And let me grab a hold
My hands have touched the gold

"Cousin?"

Achilles' hand instinctively went to his sword at the first sound, but he relaxed when he recognized Patroclus' voice. He only let his hand return to its crossed position over his chest, staring back at the sea, lost in thought.

Patroclus stepped next to him, admiring the view silently. "We'll be in Troy soon."

The prince of Pthia recognized the excitement in his young friend's voice; Achilles had once, after all, held that passion and longing for battle, long before he became the legendary lone wolf and feared warrior. He only nodded, however, not even looking at his cousin.

Sensing Achilles' reluctance to talk, Patroclus followed his cousin's gaze to see what held his attention so raptly.

"What do you see?" Achilles finally asked, after long moments of quiet.

Knowing there must be some military lesson behind this exercise, Patroclus stared at the water, hard. "I see nothing," he finally admitted.

"Nothing?" Achilles chuckled silently. "Think, Cousin, it's not a hard task. I just want to know what you see when you look out at this… expanse." The two men fell into still contemplation.

"Poseidon." Grinning, Patroclus pointed out at a cloud sweeping down, "See? He's riding in his chariot on the surface!"

Achilles stared at it, then smiled. "Yes, I see it."

Patroclus glanced at his cousin sideways. "Why do you ask?"

Looking downward, Achilles studied his sandals, considering his choices. He dared not tell anyone on the boat his mother's predictions; she had gained respect for her ability at prophesy, and, knowing his men's loyalty, the Myrmidons would order the boat turned around and tie him to the mast to ensure his safety.

My heart's been driven by extremes
Blind with dreams, tight with fear
But still, God knows I was here
And oh, I was alive!

"Oh, I just miss youthful idealism," he said casually. Patroclus' worried expression wiped away into disappointment. Achilles belatedly realized his unintentional slur on Patroclus. He covered his eyes with his hand, rubbing it down to his jaw. "Patroclus, I didn't-"

"Yes, you did." Patroclus turned and jerked off Achilles' offered hand of apology. "I'll see you in the morning."

The prince of Pthia watched his cousin leave. "I'm sorry."

And now I lay the past to rest
For in the end I did my best

Troy, Night

Petra sighed, rolling over to her side. Throwing off her blanket, she walked, barefooted, over to the balcony and looked over to the sea. The moonlight reflected on it, highlighting it onto the horizon.

You have to live the life you're given
And never close your eyes!

She shivered and rubbed her hands up and down her arms. Her mind kept racing with worries, worries she had seen in Hector and her father's eyes. Despite the gift of a new sister and happiness in Paris, she saw the deadly results of Paris' impulsiveness. This time it had even more deadly consequences than ever.

Perhaps if she could make some type of marriage… But the thought of being the property of any Greek, especially Agamemnon, made her shudder with revulsion and try to think of some other solution. But there were none to be found.

You hold on and stare into the skies
And burn against the cold
For any moment you might find the gold!

Stepping away, Petra walked away to the chest at the end of her bed. She opened it and pulled out the gleaming blade from inside. When held with the tip touching the ground, it reached her waist.

She tested the weight and let out a swing. It gleamed and slid through the air like a knife through cream. She let out a breath of air.

The old training that Hector gave her came back, but instead of trying to keep herself calm and focus, her frustrations from the past few days slipped past her lips when she made her formations.

"Idiot counsel and their stupid rulings." Swing.

"Idiot Paris and his selfish actions." Swing.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid rules and regulation!" Swing. Her eyes narrowed and she started to

"I HATE THIS!" Clash.

Eyes wide with surprise, Petra looked past the now interlocked blades into Hector's amused face. "Continue," he said softly, letting her blade slide free but holding up his own weapon.

Her excitement drained away when in the face of her former tutor, and she looked away with embarrassment. How much had he heard?

"You're supposed to keep your emotions under control, Petra," he scolded mildly. "If you don't, you'll make a careless move and die."

"It's late." She slid the sword back in its sheath, kneeling to place it back in storage. "Father would not approve of you wandering down the halls this late, especially when you only just came back."

"And you're wide open." He let the flat of his blade hit her back, making her shoot up to her feet with the blade aimed at him in annoyance.

Petra's eyes narrowed down to slits. "Hector, don't."

"If you don't defend when attacked, you die," Hector warned, circling around her. He made a quick dash at her feet. Nimbly, however, she dodged it and made a hit towards his throat, only to have it blocked.

Hector had entered quietly when he heard his sister's voice, and now he wanted to keep that fire in her eyes. Tired of the lonesome shell she had put herself in, he now goaded her and goaded her until she released the Amazon in her, freeing herself before she retreated back into the shell of whatever the council wanted.

And there was joy through it all
And I am standing tall

Inside, Petra could hear her decorous, frightened self shouting for her to stop before someone caught her. But she finally, for the first time since she turned fourteen, completely gave herself into reckless abandon.

She suddenly made a thrust at his hip. Hector jumped to the side, joining her while shouting instructions.

"Watch your weak points!" Their swords clashed.

"Never change sword hands; you haven't fought for a while, Petra!" She let her sword flip over her arm, however, before startling him and pretending to thrust at his neck.

He jumped backwards to fight her intensity. "Have you been practicing?"

"Whatever made you think that?" Hector tripped and found a cold blade touching his throat. Petra kneeled down, her eyes studying his. Then she smiled, her eyes shining like stars with contentment at a well-made strike. "Thank you," she whispered.

And though my voice was just a whisper
Someone must have heard!
There were nights the moon above me stirred
And let my life take hold

Hector smiled back at her, letting her stand and help him up. "You haven't forgotten anything," he said admiringly.

A breathless laugh escaped her lips with joy. "I couldn't, not when you taught me." He hugged her firmly and held in the whoop that he felt bubbling from her chest.

"There is so much potential in you," he said as he held her at an arm's length. "You have enough fight to conquer the Greeks single-handed."

But then the light in her died at his words.

She turned and started to wrap up her sword. "It's useless, Hector." She cut off his noise of protest. "I cannot hope for anything more than a good marriage to a good man. I can't achieve the glory you and Paris have."

"Yes, you can!" he insisted, grabbing her shoulders and shaking her slightly. "You can do so much!"

Her eyes met his, giving him a skeptical look. "Think about it, Hector."

He started to protest, but she shook her head. And the world came crashing down on him. She was right. As a princess, she had no chance at doing anything great, unless she made some noble gesture of sacrifice.

"I have no chances for glorious deeds and daring accomplishments," she said with a nonchalant shrug, turning to put her sword away.

"Petra…"

"Good night, Hector."

I rode across that sky
And once I touched the gold!

For a few moments, Hector stood there, trying to find some words of hope to give to her, but he had nothing.

She heard him walk out the door and close it behind him. As soon as he was gone, she slammed the chest closed and buried her face in her hands, letting out a repressed scream.

This room was a gilded cage. She stared at the ornate decorations, ones that her father and Paris insisted upon, and felt her throat close.

Walking to the window again, she stared out at the Aegean Sea.

"Apollo," she whispered, letting one tear fall and clenching her hands at her sides, "please… please hear me… Give me freedom, I beg you. I'll do anything, let you do anything…"

Here in my own two hands

I touched the gold

Author's Note: The song is Gold, by Linda Eder. Like? Dislike? Review!