Disclaimer: I do not own Troy or any of the affiliated characters

Chapter 10: Choosing Sides

The two girls spent the rest of their time talking about their treatments over the last two week. As Patroclus had told Adara, Achilles could have a temper, but from what Briseis saw, he was a decent man and not one of Agamemnon's cronies.

"I don't know what happened between him and Agamemnon," Briseis said, "but he probably found someway to anger him and that's why we're here." A moment later, she continued, "What about Patroclus? Could he have had problems with Agamemnon as well?"

Adara shrugged, having never heard him speak of anything in particular. "I don't know, but I doubt it. He was wounded and spent the past few days in the tent."

At the thought of him wounded, Adara's mind wandered again. She wondered if his wounds had fully healed. If they had - and she wouldn't be surprised if they did - he would have fought and would be returning from battle soon. With a small smile, she worried about any new injuries he may have acquired, because all he had was Eudorus to tend to them.

Her thought process was broken by a rapid stream of curses and other vulgar terms. The words grew louder and louder until Agamemnon, sweaty, bloody, and filthy, threw back the tent flap and stomped in. The girls' ears began to ring with the continuous flow of profanities and insults, and both had a fairly good idea at whom the yells were directed.

"Foolish, selfish coward!" he mumbled towards the end of his rant. "Dishonorable, stupid brute!"

He caught sight of the girls, his eyes widening and his nostrils flaring with anger. He paused near them, and it took all of their willpower to not lean away from his practically tangible wrath. Whatever thoughts were going through his head, the girls would never know, but his decision was to leave them be.

He continued this pattern on a daily basis, entering and exiting the tent venting foul language they could only assume was directed at Achilles. The only sign he still remembered Adara and Briseis were there was the bread and water they received during the day. It took only one serving of this new diet for Adara to dearly miss the fruit platter in Patroclus's tent. And her bed in Patroclus's tent. And her walks by the shore.

And Patroclus himself. Her thoughts often drifted to him, imagining that Eudorus was all he had to heal his wounds and the disaster that could turn into. The thought brought a small smile to her face, but it was quickly wiped away as Agamemnon came flying back into the tent for the fifth day in a row, shouting his profanities.

But today was different. When he passed by the girls, he stopped, composed himself, and stood a little straighter. "Damus!" he bellowed. A young soldier came running into the tent immediately, not wanting to anger the king any further with waiting. "Give them to the men when they arrive. But not the Myrmidons. If they don't fight, they don't share in the prizes."

"Agamemnon?" a third voice questioned. Adara recognized Odysseus as he entered the tent. "We must discuss what to do."

"There is nothing to discuss," Agamemnon said curtly. "Achilles is only one man."

"And the Myrmidons are an entire army," Odysseus shot back. Agamemnon stiffened, though the girls didn't know if it was from Odysseus' point or the steel in his voice. "It has been five days. We await your presence in Nestor's tent."

When Agamemnon's armor had been stripped and his body had been washed, the King exited his tent.

"Achilles ordered the Myrmidon's not to fight," Briseis concluded.

"You think it's because we were taken?"

Briseis nodded just as Damus approached them. They could hear the sounds of the men returning from battle. The two exchanged worried glances as they were led outside, the only light in the evening darkness coming from the bonfires. But the fires were all they needed to see the faces of the men that were watching them.

It wasn't long before Adara began to wonder where Achilles was now. She was being pushed, back and forth, between two large, sweaty, foul-smelling, drunken bums. They laughed and shouted, not giving her enough time to regain her balance before she was shoved backwards again. Finally, a little dizzy, she was caught and not let out of the vice-like grip she was in.

She chanced a look at Briseis, who was surrounded by three men, one of them coming closer, a stupid grin on his face. Adara knew what was going to happen a split second before it did, and she grinned when she saw the spit hit the man on his cheek. But her grin faded almost as quickly as the soldier's did. He walked over to a nearby fire pit while his two comrades held Briseis tightly.

"Briseis!" Adara screamed before she could stop herself, seeing the soldier pull a long, metal rod from the flames and agonizingly slowly move the glowing red-yellow end closer to Briseis. "No!" Adara twisted and writhed, pushing herself away from her distracted captor.

She hadn't thought of a plan, but she didn't need one anyway; she had barely gone five feet before the man, whose strides were much longer than hers, grabbed her by the waist and hoisted her back to where they'd been. Adara kicked with her legs until her feet hit the ground. She jabbed her elbow behind her and knocked the wind out of her captor, like she had done to Carius what felt like so long ago.

But it wasn't enough for her to be released, and the wine he was full of caused his anger to intensify rapidly. He turned Adara to face him and smacked her with the back of his hand, the surprise of the blow and the power behind it more than enough to send her to the ground. She curled herself into a ball and covered her head, feeling and tasting the blood that was streaming from her nose.

She was forced by her instincts to look up when she heard the clang of metal, the sound of burning flesh, and yelps of pain from where Briseis was. But she saw Achilles, the hot rod now in his hand and being used to threaten anyone who came near Briseis. Movement in Adara's peripheral vision made her turn her head again and she tensed, seeing her own captor, a knife in his hand. His eyes were on Achilles, who was facing away, and he was moving closer to the Myrmidon.

Adara nearly jumped when she heard the sound of a sword being drawn from its sheath come from behind her. "Don't even think about it," a voice said. She would have known that voice anywhere, but the tone was so chilling and unfamiliar that she doubted her memory. Adara focused on the man with the knife. He turned, and upon seeing his challenger, let the surprise take over his face and put the knife away. Right after, the sword was sheathed and Adara was lifted from the ground by the man who had spoken.

He started walking, and she was finally able to see she had been correct: Patroclus, his arms holding her tight, his expression stony.

It was a surprisingly long walk back to the Myrmidon camp. In that time, her adrenaline gone, Adara dozed, slipping in and out of consciousness. She heard Patroclus's voice, now recognizable, say something. This fully woke her.

Back inside the familiar tent, Patroclus set her down on her bed. Eudorus came in and gave Patroclus a bowl of water with some cloth. He caught sight of Adara and, after a moment of hesitation, gave her an awkward smile before leaving. She could only imagine how bad her face looked.

She picked up the water bowl Patroclus had put down and looked at her reflection while he sat down in front of her. She almost recoiled from the mirror; her hair was tangled and knotty and her face was smeared with dirt. From the smack, her right cheek was red, her lip was swollen and puffy, and there was a trail of dried blood from her nose.

"Adara?" Patroclus's quiet voice brought her attention back, and she raised her head. He didn't flinch or even blink as his eyes searched her face. He tucked a loose strand of her dark hair behind her right ear, his rough hands gentle. When his eyes finally met hers, she thought about the blue cloth and how it hadn't really done him that much justice. "I'm sorry this happened, that you had to wait so long. I waited every night for you to exit Agamemnon's tent. There was nothing I could do."

"I know," she told him, starting to clean her face with the wet cloth. She couldn't tell what he was thinking as they sat in silence.

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