Chapter 2: To Dream of Dreams
I watched Paris' cloak spin with his actions as he surreptitiously opened the door to Helen's chambers. As if blind to the world, he noticed no one, not even the girl hidden in the shadows, away from the torch light. Cautiously, almost carefully, he glanced over his shoulder, and then slowly opened the wooden door. His dark hair that fell in perfect curls down his neck was the last thing I saw before he disappeared into the chamber. The seconds crossed to minutes, and soon hours. The moon waned in the black sky, the brightest of stars. I felt my eyelids droop as I began to feel drowsy. I pinched my arm to make myself spring back into attention. Night twinkled over the palace, stars blinking into the windows, winking at me. They dragged me into a peaceful sleep, the cup of wine slipping from my hands, the last of its contents spilling over the floor. The dream that streamed into my mind stole me away from Paris and Helen.
My father scolded me once again. "Aim for me, think of nothing else but defeating me!" His sword flashed in the sunlight as he wrapped his hands tighter round his hilt. I gripped the leather bound handle, my hands aching from the tension. I counted to eight, exhaled then counted to eight again as I breathed in. Relaxing my body with this breathing method, I lifted my eyes up to my father. Light brown hair tied back in a leather thong, his eyes were startling, a pale blue that reminded me of ice, striking and freezing my soul. His body glistened with sweat, his broad shoulders and muscles like that of a God. I trembled deep inside my body, his angry eyes scaring me. But my face belied the terror and was replaced with determination. I rushed forward, my sword lifted above my face. My sandals pierced the sand and stones, embedding them into the dry dirt. My sword clashed against Father's, he sneered at me from beyond his outstretched arms. He pushed all of his strength on me, thrusting me back. He wielded his sword with power and might, aiming for my fingers in hopes to fling the weapon from my sweating palms. In the distance were the fields, with a few bystanders who watched for moments at our fight. The rolling hills turned into flat land, and the city of Troy stood in the distance.
The citadel sat on the highest peak, the temple a few miles away on another identical hill. The houses and buildings lay strewn all around these two fortresses, with the giant wall to keep it all safe. And here my father and I fought, atop the ruins facing the great wall and gates of gold stone, basking its glory in the sun. From a distance, I saw the great statue of the God Apollo, his golden body and arrow mimicking the sun's duty. Father's sword suddenly slashed out at me, but I jumped to the side, spinning fast on my feet and aiming for his side. He greeted me plainly, matching my moves with his own and catching my blade. "Harder, come at me Aldreana, don't hold back!" My father ordered at me, turning my determination into annoyance and anger. I swung my blade back around, unaware of his feet. Throwing his foot out, he caught my calf and whipped me out from under me, tossing me to the ground. Stars sprang to my eyes and my breath was sucked from me. Wincing, I looked up to see his blade's tip pointed at me. "I've won," he merely said, his face grave.
Helen heard the door open, but dared not turn around. Paris walked to her side, resting his warm hands on her shoulders. She shivered, his touch sending waves of anxiety down her spine. She closed her eyes, wishing the moment away, but opened them to realize Paris was still there.
"You shouldn't be here," she warned. "If Menelaus…" Paris silenced her, massaging her shoulders. Helen bit down hard on her lip, a small moan still escaped. Her skin prickled as Paris drew his hands further down her body to her chest.
"That's what you said to me yesterday and the day before that," he retorted with. Helen immediately stood up. Her eyes glared at him, yet melted at the sight of his face. His dark eyes stared deeply down at her, recognizing her deepest pleasures. His body sparkled in gold armor contrasted with the blue cloth of Troy. Tiny rings of gold held pieces of his curling dark brown hair. Gold arm bands on his wrists made the strength of his muscles stand out more. He backed away as Helen stood, afraid she'd order him to leave. But instead, she wrapped the tips of her fingers to the clasps on her dress. Aimlessly she took them off, and the gown traveled with the clasps to the floor, exposing her slim, lushes figure. Paris took a moment to admire, stare and smile, before sweeping the naked beauty into his arms, his lips twisting themselves around hers.
The girl rushed past me in a flurry, tears streaking her cheeks and ruining her makeup. Confused, I followed close after, down the hall to my father's bedchamber. She gripped the iron handle with white knuckles and swung the door open. I heard her gasp as she quickly scanned the room, looking for any trace of my father. His bed sheets laid untidy, the furniture over turned and disarrayed. Flabbergast she turned back to me, asking for my father. Just as confused as she, I took a peek into the room. Never had I seen my father's room like this, it startled me and surprised me. There was an echo of boot heels from down the hall, both me and the girl spun around. My father walked in, his hands folded behind his back, his face grim. His eyes looked tired and sad, his walk was somnolent. He was dressed in a plain brown tunic and gold armor, a black cape tied around his neck. I considered him, looking for any flaws in the motions of his tired body.
"My lord, something terrible has happened!" the girl said as she caught her breath. My father's face instantly went to hers, the tired look completely gone. "What?" he demanded. The girl jumped from his yell, but my feet were planted firmly to the ground. The girl, eyes wide, placed a trembling hand on his arm, which he shook off. "It's your son my lord, he was murdered." My heart broke, like glass into a million pieces. I could not breath, couldn't think as tears filled my eyes and dripped off my cheeks. My father, his expression of concern faltered, sadness and sorrow was mixed with another feeling, one I had never seen before in his eyes. He looked at the weeping daughter close to the servant girl. "These words shall never be uttered, understand?" His shout sent the girl running in tears, while I stared at the ground, my life in chaos.
The shutting of a door woke me suddenly, tearing me from the memory of my fallen brother. I looked around, the dizziness of my sudden awaken fading, the blur in my vision disintegrating. I clumsily stood up, my knees weak from the curled position I had slept in the dark corner. I began walking past Helen's chamber when a breeze of wind suddenly tore open the door. I spun back around, by habit the dagger from my belt also in my hands. Seeing no one, I tucked the dagger back into the belt loop and eyed the door. The room was dark and quiet, but appearances can be deceiving. Tapping the door open, I quickly looked around the empty room, there was nothing but the clump of clothes lying on the stone ground next to the fire place. Among the pieces I recognized a gold silk cloth and a red chiton. No! My mind screamed. They were gone, Helen and Paris. But to where? My mind buzzed with questions and scenarios, I thought of everything possible. The last vision was two creeping figures slipping into a Trojan boat. No, Hector, I have not failed you. I picked around the room, finding a place in the wardrobe where a cloak could have been placed, and Helen was sure to have one for those sneaky moments in solitude. Panicking, I run from the room, flying down the stairs, thinking of all the cruel things I could inflict on Paris. But then I see Hector's face, solemn and honorable. I will listen to you, my lord. I will find where she is and will watch her, my lord. Any order you give I will follow. I think to the past, to the connections between my dreams and the prince of Troy. A rustle from behind shacks my thoughts, I look over my shoulder as a metal hilt hits my head, sending me back to my dreams, a wave of blackness covering my sight. I feel my body tumble to the floor, but from there I have no idea.
A bird flies overhead but I barely notice it, my eyes glued to the dirt road ahead. A small boy rushes past me, pushing to reach his friend. His giggle makes me cringe. How can he be so happy? I think as the sun shines in my face, beads of sweat huddle close across my forehead. I look up by the wall, to the soldier with golden armor, black hair hidden beneath a helmet. That could have been my brother, the sweet boy who cherished every moment with me when we were young, smiling at my mistakes and telling me the right answer. I watched him grow up before my eyes, till he was twelve and I nine, I picked up the sword, swinging it bluntly around his head, his wave of motion not like that of an experienced soldier, but of one who is a young boy still holding onto a future. Father began teaching him from that day forth, I saw less and less of my brother. Then one day my father came home in a rage, screaming that my brother will never learn to alter his mind to sword and fighting. Days later I found him in his room, reading about the myths and legends of the Gods. "I want to become a scholar Aldreana," he said with great excitement and happiness. I blinked in confusion. "But your place is by your sword, in the heat of battle. You read about heroes when you can become one yourself," I advised. But he shacks his blond curls. "You are the hero, not I." He smiles, placing his dagger from father into my hands. "Make him proud," he finishes.
A warm hand suddenly grabs my arm. His fingers twist my skin, turning the tan hue into red welts. Men and women stare, pointing in astonishment as I gaze through liquid at Paris. His brown eyes cut at me like the arrows he practices with, his strong grip sending needles of pain up my arm. "You! You are the daughter of the traitor, the spy, are you not, the one who's son was killed in combat?" I pull away from Paris, his grip still appearing on my arm, I rub away the pain, glaring at the Trojan Prince. "My father is not a traitor and is not a spy. And my brother was murdered. He did not die in combat!" I shout at the Prince, tears pooling my vision. I knuckle my eyes to stop the tears. Paris' head juts back, confused at my words, yet coming with words to retort back with. "Rumors spread fast in the city, perhaps I am wrong. But either way, your father lied about you brother's death." He doesn't even wait for me to bow, just climbs onto his horse and knees its sides, sending it into a speeding gallop down the street. Everyone who witnessed my rude behavior now stares at me with wide eyes, a disgrace to the city and to the Prince. Blinded by angry and tears I run down the street, while everyone jumps out of my way…
Hector could not believe the sight that was before him. Helen pulled back her hood, revealing her gorgeous face. Hector's eyes grew wide as Paris wrapped an arm around his prize, his treasure, and his love. Hector looked from the queen to his brother, hissing at him in anger before rushing back up the stairs to the surface of the wooden boat. A spray of salt wind and water smacked his face. The men all looked up with peculiar looks at their prince who last night had enjoyed himself with the new peace. Now the peace was crushed like sand into a thousand particles. He rushed to the front of the ship, hearing Paris follow close behind. Nostrils flaring in fury, he grabbed his brother's tunic, pushing all his strength against Paris' body.
"Do you know what you have done?!" he shouted in anger, wishing to grab Paris' tunic again and tossing him of the ship to his death. "Do you know what Menelaus will do when he finds her missing?" He waited for Paris' response as he stalked back and forth among the ship. Paris watched his brother, as if his eyes that showed no expression of remorse could change Hector's anger into understanding. The waves and the rowing of the men around him and the creaking of the wooden boat were all Hector heard. He glared at the clear blue sea, not wanting to meet his brother's face.
"I love her." That was all Paris whispered in response to Hector's words. Hector snorted in disgust. Then looked back to where the kingdom of Sparta could have been seen hours before. What happened to Aldreana?
My head is aching as I brush the lasting memory away. I put a hand to my head, waiting for my vision to reappear. After a few aching and painful moments pass, I can clearly see the vacant hall where the night before a great feast was laid out. I pull my other hand, only to have it yanked back. Awestruck, I spin my head around too fast, sending pickers of agony in my head. Paris' galloping horse still echoes in my ears. I turn to my bound arm, and iron shackle twisting its way to a ring set into the columns, perfect for fitting chains and prisoners to. I lift a foot, which is pulled down by the weight of another shackle. I'm breathing hard, wondering what is to become of me now that I'm captured prisoner when all of a sudden a loud, angry shout rings down the hall from upstairs. I hear a clash as an item is thrown to the stone wall and the shuffling of feet as a servant girl sprints down the steps. She glances at me with terror filled eyes, and then continues her way past the table and out of the room. I follow her as far as my head can go before another shout sends its volume down to me. I look back to the hall, the blank stone wall and the steep steps. I catch my breath. "WHERE IS SHE?!"