Anemone Lee – Your review really left a great big smile on my face. I'm honoured. Thank you! As for writing an Achilles-Deidamea story, yes, I've actually been planning one for a while now. However, the way I planned it, it will probably be a oneshot – a long oneshot :) - and I'll most likely post it in the Illiad section. This one, I felt I could post here because, although it's really not based on the movie at all, at least the main characters are the same. But that wouldn't apply to Deidamea. Anyway, I'll have to finish this one first. There's also the idea of a Helen story that I've been toying with for a pretty long time now, but I'll just have to take them one at a time, otherwise I'll never get anything done. I suppose I have a real passion for the Trojan Cycle in Ancient Greek culture. I've been endlessly fascinated by it for more years than I care to admit. :)

Thank you also to all the readers that have been sticking with me in spite of the long downtimes, and to those who were kind enough to favourite this story. Please let me know what you think!

CHAPTER NINETEEN

The moon was high in the night sky when I finally called it a day. Quite a long while before, you had walked over, stared at me in silence for a moment, frowning, then turned on your heel and went back to the hut without a word.

I knew you were angry that I hadn't gone with you, but I really didn't want to back down on that particular point. I was more than just a mere bedmate to you, wasn't I? My role in your life and your household was akin to that of a wife and I sure as hell was not going to let go of that, even at the cost of a fight with you.

I stopped at the water basin by the entrance to your hut, picked up a rag and started to clean myself up as best I could, shivering. The night was chilly and the water was cold, but I didn't bother to warm it. I was just too tired. Finally, I pulled on a clean tunic, stepped noiselessly into the hut, careful not to disturb Patroclus and Iphis, who were fast asleep in their bed by the far wall, and tiptoed to your alcove.

The moment I slipped into bed, you reached out and pulled me close, mumbling sleepily: "You're freezing. Freezing! You can't do this. It's so late. Come here, let me warm you."

And so you did, tucking in the blankets against my back, wrapping your arms around me, entwining your legs with mine, holding me flush against you from head to toe, sharing the heat of your own body with me. I fell asleep almost instantly, cuddling up like a child in the safe cocoon of your warmth.

Halfway through the night, though, I woke up to an empty bed. I curled up under the blankets and waited, assuming you had needed to go to the latrine, but when time dragged on and you didn't come back, I decided to go looking for you.

I found you not very far from the hut, sitting on a low bench by one of the bonfires that dotted the camp, staring at the flames with a goblet of wine in your hand.

You turned, sensing my presence: "Go back to sleep. It's alright, I'll be back in a moment."

I walked over to you and hugged your shoulders from behind, touching my cheek to yours.

"What's the matter? Why did you wake up?", I asked softly.

You shrugged slightly, without answering, then lifted your free hand to grab both of mine and pull me in tighter.

"Are you having trouble sleeping again?", I insisted. "Is something wrong?"

"You need to go back in", you said. "You've been getting precious little sleep as it is. And you're about to start freezing again."

I shook my head, then slipped around to sit down next to you. "No, I'm not. This time I got my cloak on, see?"

You responded to my smile, but only briefly, then you took a swig of your wine.

"Come on, Achilles, tell me. Don't shut me out, please. What is it?", I pressed.

You shook your head. "I'm not shutting you out. There's just nothing to tell."

I looked up at you, studying your profile in silence. You were staring away at the flames, drinking from the goblet. I noticed there was an almost empty jug on the ground by your feet.

There were bags under your eyes, a bitter line running along the corner of your mouth. Of course I had noticed that lately you had been tenser than usual, but I had ascribed it to your frustration that I wasn't paying you the kind of attention you wanted. Now, however, I was wondering: had I missed any signs that there was something not quite well with you? Could it be that it was not so much a matter of you wanting my attention, as of you needing it?

I tried to think back. That tension in you had started right after you had come back from the last series of raids. You had been sombre and sullen, your temper flaring quicker than ever. But that had also been exactly when the workload in the camp had spiked, so it had seemed natural for me to associate both things. Yet…

The dots started to connect themselves in a clear pattern, like stitches in a tapestry. You didn't become tense after your arrival from that last raid; you were already tense when you arrived. It wasn't just the sullenness and the quick temper. It was the darkness in your eyes, the deliberate blankness in your face. The fact that you'd been drinking significantly more than you normally did.

I shivered suddenly.

"There you are", you said angrily. "I told you. You're freezing again. You got to go back in."

"It's not from the cold. I just realized you have been drinking way too much since your last trip. I've been so busy I hadn't really taken the time to think about it." I paused. "Something happened in the last raid, didn't it?"

Instead of answering, you drained your goblet in one single go. I rested my hand on your wrist.

"Achilles, please. What do you want me to do? Beg? I'm sorry I didn't notice there was something the matter with you. I really am. But it would make it so much easier for me to be there for you when you need me, if you'd just tell me when there's something wrong." My voice caught in my throat. I had to make a physical effort to squeeze the words out. "I've been so busy precisely because I want to be a good woman to you. Like a wife and…"

Your head snapped up:

"You are a wife to me. The only one I have and want. But that's just the thing: why couldn't you make even a little time for me? I understand there's been a lot to do and you want to be in control of the chores the servants are doing. But it's the servants that are supposed to do them, you only really have to supervise. Why do you have to be so bloody absorbed that you hardly even manage to sit down for supper and have to race off as soon as you finish eating? It seems that lately I only ever see you running from a group of servants to the next, without a moment to spare. For goodness' sake, the food isn't going to rot if you finish preserving it tomorrow instead of today!"

I stared into your eyes. There was hurt there, although you were doing a reasonably good job of covering it up with anger. I let my hand slide down your wrist and curled my fingers around yours.

"I know it isn't going to rot from one day to the next. But it's important for me to prove, to myself as well as to others, that I can handle being a general's wife. This is very different from running a palace… which I never really did, by the way. It's been a bit of a challenge and I took pride in being able to rise to it." My voice caught again. I cleared my throat. "I also wanted to make you proud."

"I'm proud of you just as you are, I don't need you to be the perfect housewife to value you", you interrupted.

"Yes, but... Look, I can't be just a pretty little thing sitting around and waiting to provide comfort for you. I need to feel useful, I need to know that I'm standing beside you, contributing something to your household and to the well-being of your men. I need a sense of purpose."

Now you were frowning in earnest: "You've never been 'just a pretty little thing', as you put it, and I never expected you to just, how was it again?, 'sit around and provide comfort' for me. That was never what you did, and also never what I asked of you."

"That's true, you never did. And it's just as true that, for all my wish to feel useful in a more general sense, I also want to be there for you when you need me. Yet now I failed to do that and I'm sorry. I should have noticed. Still, like I said, you'd make that a lot easier for me if you'd only tell me when something is wrong."

You reached for the jug and filled up your cup again. I pulled at your hand, keeping you from drinking.

"Achilles, please. You have to talk to me."

"I don't want to talk to you about the crap from the battlefield. I don't want to even think about it at all. I just want to forget it."

"But there are some things you can't really forget, aren't there? Things that stick to your mind and keep you from sleeping. You can't pretend they're not there, you need to let them out." I waited, but there was no reply. "What about Patroclus, then? If you don't want to talk to me, then at least you should talk to him." I choked a little. Admitting there might be taboo issues between you and me hurt more than I cared to admit.

"Patroclus is always there, alongside me. He knows everything that happens. There's no need to talk."

"So it's better to just drown everything in wine, is it?" I couldn't prevent a note of sarcasm from slipping into my voice.

You stared at me as if you'd never seen me before. I bit my tongue, then took a deep breath.

"I don't want to argue with you. I want to help, but I can only do it if you let me. You say I'm a wife to you. Wives share the burdens their husbands have to carry, but you don't let me share yours. Why can't you open up with me? Why do you always have to be so impossibly self-sufficient?"

"It's got nothing to do with self-sufficiency. I have no problem admitting that I need you. Damn, I've done nothing but show I needed you ever since I got back. Not that it's done me any good, I might add."

I was struggling to keep my own frustration in check:

"You showed you needed me to adorn your table and share your bed. But you refuse to talk to me about anything meaningful!"

You jumped from the bench as if I had poked you with a red hot iron.

"Don't you dare say something like that again! Ever!"

I stood up as well: "Then what else do you need me for? What else can you need me for, if you don't talk to me about the things that are important to you?"

We held each other's gaze for a while. At long last, you whispered:

"I need you to be my refuge. My source of peace. The one I go to to remain human, to remember there's more to life than just war."

There was another silence. I reached out to touch your face.

"Is that what I am to you?"

"Among other things, yes. But that's the way you help me carry my burden. Because you do help me carry it, believe me. And that's why I don't want to soil you with battlefield crap. Besides the fact that I honestly hate to even think about it, let alone put it into words."

I curled my hand around yours again and pulled you back down on the bench.

"You talking won't soil anything. But keeping it all inside you and trying to wash it away with wine, that will destroy you eventually. And that is the one thing I can't handle. I can deal with anything but that. I do need you too, you know. Whole and strong, and holding me safely in a cocoon of warmth when I get to bed cold and late." I managed a thin smile, and you smiled back at me. Then you grabbed a stick and began poking the fire.

"It was the raid before the last. A big village that belonged to one of Troy's main allied kings. Apparently, all young men had been drafted to their lord's army, so there were basically only old men, women and kids. We went easy on them. Rounded them up and spoke with the village leader, promising them safety if they didn't resist, and also promising to leave them enough for them to survive the winter. And we were doing just that. The men were counting and separating the cattle, measuring and bagging wheat and all kinds of produce." Your voice was low, flat, eerily devoid of expression. "It's not pretty, Briseis. It's never pretty when you're taking the livelihood of peasants." You paused for breath. "I was thirsty, so I walked over to the well to get some water. Suddenly, a man charged at me from behind, shouting something and wielding an axe. I drew my sword, swirling and slashing in one single motion. I didn't have time to even see who the man was. I only noticed the axe from the corner of my eye. When I did look, I'd already cut clean through his belly. His knees were buckling and he was holding his guts in his hands." You paused again. I made a huge effort to keep the revulsion that image caused in me from showing in my face. You went on: "He was old. About as old as my father. I had never killed an old man, Briseis. I don't kill either old men or children. If I hadn't reacted on instinct, if I had looked before striking, I'd have known to stop him without using lethal force." You took another deep breath. "Of course, the men saw the guy attacking me. They didn't pause to think it might have been simply an individual act of madness. In situations like that, the tension is so big that the tiniest thing is enough to spark chaos. They screamed treason and turned instantly on the villagers. I barked at them to stop and they did obey, but that single moment had been enough for the spears to be hurled. The peasants were huddled together, unarmed, unshielded. Like fucking targets. Eighteen dead on the spot, twenty three seriously wounded. Old men, women and children, every last one of them."

Your voice broke and you dabbed angrily at your eyes. I struggled to speak past the lump in my throat:

"You only defended yourself. When someone comes at you with an axe, it's normal not to pause to take a good look at them before doing whatever you need to do to stop them. As for the villagers… well, you said yourself that those situations are so tense the smallest thing is enough to make people snap. And you did hold back your men before there was a full scale massacre."

You shook your head. "Don't try to comfort me. I know all that, but it doesn't change anything. More than half the injured were sure not to survive their wounds, so there are still thirty plus dead bodies of old men, women and children. All because one aching old man attacked me. Do you know why he did it?" I looked up at you questioningly. "Later, the interpreter told me that what he was shouting when he charged at me was, 'Curse you! You killed my son.'" Your voice broke again. You took a deep breath. "I suppose his son must have been fighting with his king's army, either here in Troy or in one of the cities I took earlier, and crossed my path somewhere on the battlefield. I still don't know who he was. But both father and son are now dead by my hand." You shook your head again, forcefully.

"I really don't want to talk about it. There's no point. I have plenty of stories like this, Briseis. Enough tragic stories of battle to drive me mad. I don't want to dwell in them. I only want to forget them. If you really want to help me, then just do what you've always done: help take my mind off them."

Our eyes met. The naked pain in yours made me want to cry. I doubted that not talking about those things would help you at all, but I had to respect your request. Perhaps in time, slowly, step by small step, I'd manage to get you to open up, to share the burden of blood and suffering with me. For now, though, I'd do what you were asking. I'd try to be your refuge from battle, your haven of peace within the war.