Here's a fairly long one! Enjoy!

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

Chapter 16: Fine

Adara coughed herself awake, gasping for air. Whatever had been filling her nose had suddenly grown too strong. She had breathed deeply, and had taken in more scent than air. Immediately, the smell was taken away. Traces remained in the air near her, but her lungs filled and her breathing returned to normal. She wiped her eyes, which had begun to water, and looked up, straight into the warm, brown eyes of Daan.

"Good morning," he said, as if nothing had ever happened. He placed the bowl of the scented mixture aside and sat next to her on the bed. "Actually, afternoon."

"Daan!" she exclaimed. She sat up and hugged him, and even though he stiffened, she didn't let go. Daan was not one for hugs, as he constantly reminded her, so she accepted the awkward pats as the best she was going to get. When she pulled away, he cleared his throat with obvious discomfort.

"How do you feel?"

"I'm..." She trailed off as she actually thought about it.

Sad. That was it. Yes, she was relieved to be home, and glad to see Daan, but neither of those feelings had enough strength to push away the sorrow she felt after losing Carius and leaving Patroclus. But she didn't feel like explaining any of that. "I'm fine." She tried to smile convincingly. "What time is it?" she asked as her stomach growled loudly.

"Early afternoon, only an hour or so past mid-day." He picked up a platter of food that was on the table in her room and put it on the bed for her.

She stared at it. It was set up exactly like the one in Patroclus's tent..

"Adara?"

"What?" she asked. She quickly returned her focus to the present, picking up a bunch of grapes, plucking one off, and eating it. "I'm fine."

He didn't look convinced, but he ignored it. If she had something to tell him, she would. "Listen, Adara," he said now, his tone changing drastically as his gruff voice became softer than she could ever recall hearing it. "After supper tonight, they will carry out your brother's funeral." Adara ate another grape, chewing it slowly but barely tasting it. "Then, Prince Hector, Prince Paris, and King Priam have some questions to ask you. But only if you feel you can."

Adara swallowed the grape. "I'll be fine."

With steady hands, Adara placed a coin for the ferryman over each of her brother's eyes. Then, with Hector, Paris, and her parents, she set fire to the wood. They all stepped back, watching as the flames and smoke shot up in the sky, lashing out at the heavens above.

Tears threatened to spill out; her knees grew weak.

It's okay to cry, his voice whispered to her. Just don't forget. A feeling of warmth overcame her. After a shaky breath, she closed her eyes and smiled to herself. She wiped away the few tears and looked back at the flames.

A hand touched her arm much later, after the crowd had thinned considerably and all Adara had left to stare at was smokey air and blackened wood. "Adara?" Hector asked. "I would like to speak to you." She turned her back on the pyre and walked with Hector into the palace and down the hallways. "Carius never stopped believing you were alive," he said, his voice breaking the silence.

"He did?" she asked, though she already knew that; he'd told her so. Hector nodded anyway.

"He was adamant. He said that there was no chance. If you weren't alive, he said he would know. Even when your parents started to doubt, he gave everyone hope."

Adara remembered with a sudden pain in her chest the feeling she had gotten on the sand hill. She was jolted back the her current situation when Hector spoke up again and stopped walking.

"My father and Paris will be joining us as well. And we thought it would be best if we had this conversation in your room. We want you to be comfortable. Is that all right?"

"Yes, it's fine."

Fine. It was a word she realized she was using a lot, though not once had she been truly fine when she had said it. After waking up that afternoon, she bathed and thoroughly cleaned herself for the first time in a few weeks, basking in the warmth of the water. Then she had gone to supper and the funeral, where swarms of people gave her condolences and told her how happy they were that she was safe. When they asked how she felt, she said, "Fine." She despised the small talk she suffered through.

When she opened the door to her room, Adara saw Paris and Priam were already there. Despite being up all afternoon, she had yet to see them, and found it a wonderful relief to do so.

Paris stepped forward to hug her first. "I'm so glad you're safe," he said quietly. She nodded into his shoulder, feeling at home in the arms of her family. She turned to Priam and bowed, but he gave a light laugh and pulled her up.

"We will have none of that right now, my dear." He surprised her by pulling her into a strong hug. His warmth, his kindness, his honesty...Agamemnon had none of the traits of this king.

He led her to the bed and let her sit. He and Hector sat in chairs while Paris leaned against the table.

"You have been through a great deal of pain in a very short amount of time," Priam said. "There are many things we would like to know, but if at any point you do not feel as if you can say any more, just let us know. We can continue this another time."

Adara nodded her understanding, not correcting them; her suffering could have been worse. Much worse.

"How were you caught?" Hector asked, his voice a little rough. "I told you to use the tunnel."

"We were going to the tunnel when we were captured by a Greek soldier."

"We?" King Priam asked.

Adara nodded. "I was with Briseis at the time. We were captured together."

"Briseis is alive too?" Paris asked, hoping for some reassurance of the safety of his cousin.

"Yes."

"What happened after you were captured?"

Adara did not bother to hide the disgust that spread over her face. "We were brought to King Agamemnon, then handed out to the men as...prizes."

"And how does the great King Agamemnon handle himself?" Hector asked, his eyes narrow. He spit the king's name as if it tasted bitter. Paris's gaze hardened as well, and even Priam did not say anything about his son's malice.

"The man is a pig," she spat, he anger towards him returning to her now. "He's a disgusting, rude, foul barbarian. And I don't think he plans on leaving."

Hector nodded. "It's a stalemate now. The Greeks' best warrior refuses to fight."

"What do you know of this man?" Priam asked.

"Achilles?" she asked for clarification. She watched the replying nods and continued. "He has no loyalty to Agamemnon. Briseis was given to him, then Agamemnon took her back. Achilles was deeply insulted, and it is his wounded pride that keeps him from fighting, even though he has her back again. His feud with Agamemnon goes back further."

"What about you?" Paris asked. "Who did they feel they could just give you away to?"

Adara winced inwardly and began to panic a little. She had deliberately left herself out of the story; Patroclus had told her one thing to say, but she did not know how much else she should tell them. Only the gods knew what could possibly reach Agamemnon's ears. "Briseis and I were given to two different people, but Agamemnon took me back as well."

"And you were given back to your warrior as well?" She nodded. "How was he?" Paris's mouth was a thin line, just waiting for the name of a soldier he could hold a grudge against.

Adara thought quickly and tried to keep any fondness out of her voice. "There were worse men in the Greek camp." An image of Arcos flashed in her mind's eye.

"How did you get out?" Hector asked.

"He-" She cut herself off. She knew what she was supposed to say, but the urge to tell her family that he was good and strong and kind, and hadn't harmed her, but let her go instead, was almost overwhelming. "He left the tent one night, and I escaped. After a few weeks, they must have lessened the guards, and he thought I wouldn't run."

"And Briseis?" Paris asked.

She shook her head. "It was a split-second decision. It was so dangerous. I didn't know when he'd be back, I didn't know if Achilles was in his tent...I didn't think I'd get another chance."

Priam smiled kindly even though sadness for Briseis was in his eyes. "I have always said you were touched by the gods. They chose wisely."

Adara bowed her head in acknowledgement of the compliment, but only embarrassed herself further when she yawned. She covered her mouth and turned her head, but unsuccessfully hid the act.

Priam rose. "I think that will do for tonight." His sons followed his lead, wishing her goodnight as they left.

Though exhausted in every way, Adara could not rest. She spent hours staring upwards, her thoughts chasing themselves round and round in her head. An annoying, itchy feeling in her stomach kept her moving until she finally got up and walked around her room, pacing quietly.

There were worse men in the Greek camp, she had told them. She understood why she had to say it, but she wished she could have gone further, said more about Patroclus. She wished she could have told them the truth about his goodness, and that of Odysseus and Eudorus, and even the occasional decency of Achilles. Patroclus had saved her, three times if she counted her escape from the camp.

But her people didn't know, couldn't know, and they never would, no matter how much she wanted them to. While it could make a difference on the battlefield if Hector knew the good men from the horrible brutes, it was also on the battlefield that news would spread.

She just wanted someone to talk to, someone who could know the truth.

Tears stung her eyes as she thought about Carius. Had he been alive, she would not have even hesitated. He would have seen through her "I'm fine" facade and known something was wrong. He would have made her tell him and words would have come pouring out of her mouth like an avalanche. He would have listened, kept the secret safe, and still found a way to find the men on the battlefield and thank them.

But he wasn't alive, and she was going crazy without her confident.

But above all, she hated having to blame the man she'd grown to care about as the enemy that had hurt her and used her for his own sick pleasure. That had been Agamemnon, not Patroclus. Never Patroclus.

Thoughts of him calmed her mind, but created a knot of loss in her stomach. She walked to her window that faced to the north and leaned out, straining to see as far west as she could. Somewhere, in that direction, he was in his tent. She couldn't help but wonder if he was awake too.

She hadn't even been out the window for a full minute before he arms and neck started to hurt. She couldn't see anything but the dim glow from the edges of the fires, so she let her feet back on the cool floor. As she crawled into bed, feeling sleep finally come over her, she resolved to find a place for her to be alone and watch for the Myrmidon camp.

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