A/N: Hello! It's been so long and I apologise for that. I would like to welcome you all to chapter six of Excidium Troiae. It's been a while so excuse me if my writing and characterisation are a bit different, I don't fully remember everything in the story. If you haven't, check out my new work, The Guardians, along with the old ones: The Hunters of the Sun and The Dissonant Notes of Fate. Enjoy the story. This ARC will probably be extremely long, I guess, because it's going to mainly focus on the journey the Achaeans made to Troy and the nine years of war, before I bring in the events of the Iliad and other sources. Enjoy!
P.S—This chapter is mainly from Achilles' point of view, as will many of the chapters involving the Greeks shall be.
ACHILLES' feet hit the sand and he instantly looked around in anticipation. Behind him, Odysseus and Diomedes were jumping down from the massive ship that had docked on the Island. Achilles glanced behind him and saw the fifty ships he had led to Aulis, each of them full of soldiers, with said warriors pouring out of the vessels.
The son of Thetis felt a presence next to him and he turned to acknowledge his best friend Patroclus with a nod. It had taken them next to two weeks to get to the meeting place set by the High King of Tiryns but Achilles was ready for battle, and he was anxious to get locked in combat with the man, Perseus, once more.
"Come," Odysseus' voice broke him out of his musings. "We must head to the command centre. Agamemnon will be waiting, as will Menelaus."
He scanned the campsite as they walked. There were thousands of soldiers, their armour varying, which told him that a lot of the kings had already arrived. Men were already training, setting up tents, or mingling with one another and the air seemed electrified with anticipation. Each and every one of them knew that at any moment they would be sailing to the city of Troy to lay waste to it and retrieve the Queen of Sparta, Helen.
He looked up when the men around him halted, signalling that they had arrived at their destination. The tent was the largest one so far, grand and huge, and it was bustling with activity. Several men wearing majestic armour and robes and talking with one another. Achilles saw a few head turn towards them as Odysseus said, "This is the command tent. The High King has been expecting you." The demigod acknowledged this with a nod.
Odysseus led them through the men and kings and finally through the entrance of the tent. His eyes roamed around, and he grudgingly nodded in awe, for the inside of the tent was much more magnificent than what was seen outside.
It was arranged like the court of a king and currently none of the many seats were occupied, except the throne in the centre. A burly man with a beard stood next to the one in the throne. The seated King was a bit roundish but well-muscled and huge. He wore bright armour, and had black hair with streaks of grey running through it. A large golden crown adorned his head and he was running a hand through his beard.
"King Agamemnon," Odysseus moved forward and bowed stiffly to the High King of Mycenae. "Achilles and his fleet have arrived."
"That is good," The man in the throne answered.
His gaze flickered to Achilles, eyebrow arched. He turned back to Odysseus. "This is him?"
"Yes," The other king nodded. "We found him on Skyros, where he had been hidden away by his mother Thetis." The High King scoffed and Achilles felt raw unfiltered rage soar through him. He clenched his jaw as Agamemnon said, "So, you have finally come to serve, boy. After months of making us wait and hiding among the women."
He responded, voice scathing and hard, "I am here of my own wishes, Agamemnon. I never made an oath to your brother to help in a case where his bride was taken." He paused. "And I serve no man. I am also of royalty and my father's kingdom does not fall under your jurisdiction. I can leave anytime I please. You would do well to remember that."
The room was silent. He glanced to his side. Diomedes wore a look of astonishment. Patroclus looked some-what proud. He turned back to the High King and the man, who was obviously his brother, Menelaus. Odysseus and the King of Sparta looked impressed. Achilles folded his arms when he saw the rage in Agamemnon's eyes. But he didn't care. He was a child of a goddess and he would not be disrespected by any mortal, king or not.
He heard a throat being cleared and Menelaus spoke up. "I apologise on behalf of my brother, Prince Achilles, and you have my gratitude for journeying so far to help us."
He nodded, accepting the apology. The King of Argos, Diomedes, stepped forward. "Have all the Kings reported yet? Are we ready to sail to Troy?"
Agamemnon still looked angry and a vein was pulsing on his forehead but he answered through gritted teeth, "Cinyrus of Cyprus promised fifty ships. However, he brought just one real ship and forty-nine made of clay." He turned to Odysseus. "He did not fulfil his oath. What do you suggest we do about him?"
"Leave him be," The wise king said. "The oath was made on the Styx and the gods. They shall handle him. We are not to interfere."
The High King nodded, and his gaze slid back to Achilles and a look of indifference settled on his face. "Make yourself at home. We shall meet here with all the kings and commanders once Eos rises. And then we shall sail to Troy the day after."
Achilles nodded his acceptance. "Come," Menelaus walked towards him. "I shall show you around the camp. Your soldiers are at the northwest side; a spot was reserved for you."
"Alright," He said, motioning to the burly man to lead the way. As he marched away from the command tent with Patroclus and Menelaus, he couldn't help but feel glad. He would finally be able to prove himself to the gods, his mother and the entirety of Greece.
-X-
ACHILLES watched as the throat of the bull was slit. Two men held it over the altar they had built and the blood dripped down and surrounded the stones. The prince was still, watching with bated breath, eyes narrowed.
Around him were kings and soldiers, each of them staring at the man who held the staff in the centre of the circle they had made around the altar. They stood at the edge of the forests, waiting, watching as the sacrifice was performed.
"Oh, great son of Leto," Calchas, the seer who was to accompany them on the journey to Troy raised his hands. His eyes were shut and he held his staff high. "Bestow upon me once again your majestic gift of foresight. We ask that you show us a sign of what is to happen. We offer this sacrifice, and call on your name, Lord Apollo!" He went silent again. Achilles' eyes flickered to the altar. The blood still dripped, flowing freely like a small river.
And then he saw the snake. Gasps and murmurs came from the men as they spotted it too—a green cobra, slithering down the altar, forming from the blood. Achilles' eyes went wide at the display of power. He watched in awe and shock as the snake slithered away from Calchas. It made its way to a plane tree, hissing as it went. Men took tentative steps back in apprehension.
Achilles watched as the serpent climbed up the tree. He glanced up, and spotted the sparrow's and three baby birds in a nest on it. The cobra got closer, closer, until it was standing over the mother bird and hissing. It reared back, forked tongue snaking out, and then lunged forward.
A few seconds later there was no sign of the birds. The demigod watched in amazement as the cobra melted into dust.
As if on cue shouts and murmurs swept through the crowd. The warrior prince kept his eyes focused on Calchas, who was silently muttering something. Finally, his eyelids flew open.
"Our prayers have been answered, and a sign was sent," He called, voice travelling down the beach. "The city of Troy shall fall. But only after ten years of war." Achilles stilled. This time the shouts reached a crescendo. Men and kings spoke in loud voices with each other, murmuring, complaining, or talking about how long they would be away from their families.
He felt someone bump his shoulder and the boy turned. Patroclus had a look of serious contemplation on his face. Without turning to look at him, the former Prince of Opus said, "You know what this means, right?"
"I do," Achilles answered, turning back to stare at the altar. They were both silent for many minutes. Finally, he said, "We're not going home anytime soon."
At this his closest friend and confidant turned to him. His eyes were thoughtful and wise as ever as he said, "We never might."
-X-
ACHILLES inhaled the fresh morning air, fingers drumming on the shaft of his spear. The ship sailed smoothly across the waters, and the afternoon sun was bright and oppressive. He was already wearing his armour, golden, immaculate. He was battle-ready, and he could not wait to set foot on Trojan soil.
He heard the call from Menelaus' ship a few moments later, and then turned to his advisor, Phoenix, saying, "They have spotted the land of Troy. We must dock with the others.
"Do we engage them in battle immediately, then?" Phoenix asked.
Achilles shook his head, saying, "That is not my decision to make. Agamemnon and his brother shall say if we are to fight when we land." He paused. "For now, spread the word across the ships. Every Myrmidon must hear that we are close to Ilios."
"As you wish, My Prince," Phoenix bowed, then marched away. Achilles shut his eyes, sending a silent prayer to his mother. He knew he should be cautious and probably afraid, but he just couldn't help but feel expectant. Now, he could finally test out his skills in a real battle, and not against men who had been ordered not to kill him.
His mother was worried for him, yes. She was still against him going with the other Greeks to Troy, but they had arrived. It was done. There was nothing that could stop him now.
The ship hit sand a few minutes later. Achilles leaped down from the prow and his feet hit the ground. Around him the other soldiers did the same. He spotted Ajax the Greater, King of Telamon, organising his troops. He saw the old king Nestor's ship dock on the land. He could see Odysseus already drawing a sword, hundreds and hundreds of men following his lead as they descended from the ships. Diomedes, Philoctetes, Agamemon and Menelaus were all marching to each other. The other commanders and kings were also walking to meet them. Achilles turned, caught sight of Phoenix and called to him, "Organise the men into troops of a hundred each. I shall be right back."
The man nodded and then the son of Thetis was moving, falling in step next to the Telamonian Ajax. They converged in a circle, serious and hard expressions on their faces.
"Are you sure this is Troy?" Odysseus spoke first. He sounded doubtful.
"Of course it is," Agamemnon scoffed. "There is a huge mountain in the distance, and it matches the description of Ilios we were given by Calchas."
"Good then," Achilles spoke up, fingers moving to drum on the shaft of his spear once more. "What now? Do we attack the city? Do we set up camp and wait for them to come to us?"
"We attack first, right now," Diomedes said. "They are expecting us, yes, but if we are quick, we can breach the walls before they are ready."
"We can—"
King Nestor cut Ajax the Lesser off, voice grave. "I'm afraid we have lost the element of surprise." Achilles looked towards him questioningly. The man simply pointed towards the valley in the distance. The demigod turned, squinting, trying to see what exactly the King of Pylos was referring to.
He swore loudly when he spotted the army marching towards them. They were many, armed to the teeth, and advancing quickly. "They're coming," Menelaus said, drawing a sword.
"Go, ready your troops!" Agamemnon ordered. "Pick up your arms! To war!"
-X-
THE BATTLE seemed to be never-ending. Achillesfought savagely, his heart thumping, adrenaline pumping through his veins. He stabbed through the chest of an enemy soldier, ducked underneath the swing of a broadsword and sliced off the head of his assailant.
The warrior sidestepped a thrust from a spear and hacked at his attacker with his sword. Around him shouts, screams and yells resonated. Weapons clashed, bodies slumped and heads fell.
He sheathed his sword, quickly unstrapping his spear from behind him. He jabbed forward, catching a soldier in the throat. The battle raged around him, the screams of death morbid and frightful. But he wasn't scared. He thrived in the battle, spinning his spear and slamming its end into someone's helmet. The man grunted, falling downwards. Achilles spun his spear once more and rammed its head into the enemy's chest.
He pulled it out once more and with a loud yell led his army into the fray. They clashed with the Trojans, the demigod creating a path of bodies as he surged forward. His hand moved of its own accord, his spear ending the lives of many. He parried a strike for his head and spun around, slamming his foot into the chest of an enemy.
With quick precision he swung his shield, bashing in the head of two enemy soldiers. The prince jumped off the ground then, and with a yell thrust his spear through the head of another. They didn't stand a chance. The demigod spotted a man being run through by an enemy soldier. He recognised him—King Thersander. The King slumped down and suddenly Diomedes was there, kneeling next to him. Achilles landed on the ground next to them and out of nowhere the bloody spear slammed into his shoulder.
He grunted as it shattered on impact, the force behind it pushing him back a few inches. "What—How?" The attacker sounded almost terrified. Achilles looked up, taking in the sight of the enemy soldier. Disappointment flooded through him. It wasn't Perseus the Trojan. Instead, this man had a scraggly beard and he wore a circlet of gold on his forehead. He was dressed like a king, in golden intricate armour and his weapon and breastplate were bejewelled.
"King Priam," Achilles smirked. "Come out to play, have you?"
This time the man looked confused. Then realisation seemed to dawn on him. He opened his mouth to speak but then the son of Peleus struck, swinging his spear. He let out a yell, slamming the butt of the weapon into the King's head. Priam let out a groan of pain and backtracked. The man swung his sword in a wide arc and Achilles blocked it with his spear. Hurriedly, his opponent retreated. Achilles watched as a green vine formed out of the sand on the ground, rising steadily. Frowning, he surged forward. Priam's foot caught the vine and he fell over, making Achilles stop in shock at the ridiculousness of the situation. He glanced around, just in time to see the purple eyed man vanish from sight. Dionysus.
Pushing the weird and sudden appearance of a god away from his mind, he jabbed his spear forward. A scream of pain rippled across the battlefield as his blessed weapon pierced through the King's thigh. He cried out in agony, dropping onto his back.
"No!" The man grunted. "You are mistaken!" Achilles raised his spear to deliver the killing blow. "I am not Priam of Troy!" The King cried out. "I am Telephus! This isn't Ilios! My kingdom is Mysia!"
The son of Thetis paused. His eyes widened in realisation. Horror filled him. No…No, it couldn't be possible. How could they have made such a terrible mistake?
"I swear to all the gods of the heavens!" Telephus yelled, clutching his bloodied thigh. "I swear it on the Styx." Above them thunder boomed.
Achilles lowered his spear. He had to make a decision, and fast. Did they keep on fighting and kill the Mysians? Or did he have to stop this before it got worse? In a split second he made a decision. He had to stop them. He couldn't allow them to massacre thousands because of a mistake Agamemnon made. "STOP!" Spinning, he yelled. "STOP! THIS IS A MISTAKE!"
Several of the Greeks and Mysians paused in their attacks. Achilles yelled out once more. "This isn't Troy! There's been a terrible mistake!" His voice swept across the battlefield, somehow amplified. The fighting seemed to seize. Everyone was staring at him, the Mysians with confusion. Achilles panted. "This isn't Troy. This land is Mysia! Not Ilios!"
"Kill them all!" The yell came from behind him. He spun, incredulous as Telephus stood, supporting himself on his own spear. "You come to my town ill-informed and think you can kill my men without any retribution?! Kill them all!" He repeated the order and several men took up the cry.
Achilles swore, ducking under the blade of a sword. He spun away from a spear and raised his shield to avoid an onslaught of arrows.
"Retreat!" He looked up in surprise. The call had come from the Greeks—Odysseus, to be exact. "Back to the ships!" Their army was crumbling. The Mysians were fighting with renewed vigour, slaying men and battering through their ranks.
Achilles didn't want to run. He had offered for the men to stop and go. But Telephus, the stupid king, had ordered for the battle to be continued. It was on his head if his men fell. But he could recognise a losing battle when he saw one. Several of the Greek men were falling, screams and cries of pain were erupting at several sides of the battlefield. Achilles saw Patroclus being pressed by three men at once and with a cry he raced towards him.
He cut down men as he ran, slashing through throats and piercing through hearts. He withdrew a knife from his belt and hurled it. The weapon sank into the throat of one of Patroclus' attackers. His friend was battered and bloody but he stabbed through the chest of another man.
Achilles ran the last one through. "We must leave now!" Patroclus cried out. "We have to go!"
He didn't argue this time. Grabbing onto the black haired boy he took off towards the ships in the distance.
The Mysians chased as the Greeks turned tail and ran. They raced towards their ships and when Achilles and Patroclus finally fell onto the deck several arrows were being fired at them.
"Go!" He shouted to Phoenix. "Go!"
The rowing started an instant later as they raced away from Mysia. Achilles fell to the ground finally, running a hand through his hair in frustration. Blood coated his body and he pursed his lips, cursing the Kings for making such a stupid decision. He didn't like how his first battle had turned out. They had made a mistake now but next time…next time would be Troy.
-X-
THE STORM had come out of nowhere. Rain fell, pattering against the side of the ship. Thunder boomed and lightning fell towards the sea. The waters swished and splashed with anger. The waves were huge. The gods were angry.
Achilles held on to a rope, blinking rapidly. Water fell into his eyes and the wind was howling, making his ears hurt. He couldn't see any of the others anywhere. He couldn't see anything. Inky blackness clouded his vision, and he was cold. He was freezing in his armour.
He could hear yells and cries and he could make out the outlines of a few ships in the darkness. The moon was clouded as the storm raged on. The rain came down, threatening to break the ship into two. The vessel rocked and Achilles collapsed onto his knees. He swore loudly, praying to his mother to protect him and all his fifty ships full of men—men who were hoping to return to their families soon.
He heard a yell, and then something smacked him in the head and everything went dark.
-X-
HECTOR smiled at Andromache as they walked past through the market. His wife was honestly beautiful, and every day, when he remembered how he had been hesitant to get married to her eight years ago, he laughed. He was twenty-seven now, and now that his preparation and studies to be King had concluded, it was left with the most crucial part—running the army as the Polemarchos after Alexandros' death, and familiarising himself with the people.
"Have you seen Anchises' boy lately?" The voice belonged to a market woman, who was in deep conversation with another. He glanced at them in curiosity.
"Which one? Perseus or Aeneas?"
"Why, both of them are making a name for themselves, I hear!" The first woman said. Hector raised an eyebrow. He hadn't been aware his friends were subject to the gossips of the marketwomen.
"You are right," The other woman smiled. "Why, if I were younger I would have petitioned old Anchises to allow me to marry one of them. But alas, Aeneas is already married."
"But the other one, Perseus," The first woman continued. "He's a good lad, that one! Helped me with my washing the other week! And he's the most eligible bachelor in Troy as of now!"
"Say," The other one started. "Why ever isn't he married yet? He came of age years ago!"
"I do not know," The first woman waved it away. "But he shall be soon. You should see how the girls stare at him when he goes past!"
"Well, Aeneas is still a better option, in my opinion!"
"That is true! The kingship suits him. And his claim to Dardania is strong. Apparently the populace is quite fond of their new King."
"You mean their women are fond of their new 'Lord'." They both giggled. Shaking his head, he exchanged a glance with his wife as they moved on.
"It's nice to see that they people have relaxed enough to gossip about Perseus and Aeneas," Andromache chuckled.
Hector smiled in response. That might have been true for the people, but he could never let his guard down. Even now that he was supposed to be relaxing, he was stiff, checking for any sign of unrests and keeping his eyes trained on the docks in the distance. His thoughts drifted to his friends. He didn't know where Perseus was. It had been a few hours since he had last heard from his best friend, but perhaps the son of Anchises was busy dealing with the gods and getting information of the Greeks.
Hector frowned. Thinking about them made him feel uneasy inside. For years they had waited and waited for the attack to come. It never had. Perseus had told them that the Greeks had been scattered back to their homelands by the gods. But Hector was sure that wouldn't last. They would try to regroup again. Menelaus would not allow Helen to live peacefully with his brother Paris. Hector scowled as he thought of the upstart. Because of Paris and Aphrodite, the citizens had been living in fear for years.
The Greeks could come at anytime and Hector had never relaxed fully—not once, since they had arrived from Sparta eight years ago. Even when Aeneas had been crowned King of Dardania five years ago, or when Perseus had been promoted to Brigadier General a month before.
He smiled at the thought of his friends. Perseus had been working hard since he had returned from Skyros with news about Achilles. He had stressed upon the importance of being ready for the enemy. He remembered clearly the words of his best friend, "If any of the warriors there are half as good as the son of Thetis is, then we're all screwed."
And so Hector had decided to take charge of the activities of the army, after seeking his father's approval.
"What's on your mind, Hector?" Andromache asked, clearly sensing his unease.
He shook his head. "It's nothing. I'm just thinking about Perseus and Aeneas. And the Greeks. And how much things have changed." And changed, they had. Aeneas visited on special ceremonies and sacred days. He sometimes came to stay for a while, with Creusa. But he already had a kingdom to run and he couldn't afford to be away from Dardania often.
Perseus was always busy with Apollo and Artemis and his training. They had all been living in relative peace for a while. But it wouldn't be long before the Achaeans came for Helen.
"It's nice to see you again, Ophion!" A voice broke him out of his thoughts. Frowning, he glanced towards its source. There were two men—traders, by the looks of it, meeting at the docks next to a ship and embracing eagerly. Troy had halted trade for a while since Helen's arrival. It was only when they were certain about where they allegiances of the surrounding towns lay that they had opened up their gates for trade once more.
"Yes, it has been far too long," The man, Ophion said. Hector continued walking, arm interlocked with Andromache's.
He waved at a man and smiled at another woman. Andromache followed his lead, greeting a fisherman and waving at another woman.
For now, all they could do was wait.
-X-
THE SON OF THETIS frowned as his feet touched the ground of Aulis eight good years later. He couldn't imagine how far his life had gone since the first time he had docked on this Island. He scanned the terrain, then smiled when he recognised a few faces of the men coming his way.
Ever since the storm had scattered them eight years ago on their way to Troy, he hadn't heard from the kings and commanders he had met on this very Island. At least, not until a few weeks ago when Menelaus and Agamemnon began summoning them all once more.
He sent a nod to Odysseus, then turned to watch his soldiers and advisors stream out of the ships he had led to the Island. Patroclus was there, his friend looking older and a bit more taller than the last time they had been here. They had just had an argument a few minutes ago and the boy would not meet the now twenty-three summer old warrior's eyes.
Phoenix was there too, giving the battalion leaders instructions on where to set up camp and ready their armour and weapons. Achilles smiled sadly, thinking about how his life had gone downhill immediately he had landed on Skyros.
He had been forced to marry Deidemeia, and his mother hadn't answered any of his prayers to stop the wedding, on the orders of the Olympian Council. He scowled, then turned away from the ships. Sure, he was eager to finally venture into battle against Troy. But seeing the High King of Mycenae wasn't something he was looking forward to. Given the choice, he would pick running through icy water naked. He really hated the old git. But still, Agamemnon had reunited them all again. And this time he would make sure there wasn't a repeat of Mysia.
He turned to his side, spotting Phoenix, and said, "I shall be right back." Without waiting for an answer the Prince ventured away.
As he passed through the Greek camp he was greeted by several soldiers and kings, many of whom Achilles didn't recognise. The ones he did he greeted back with respect and sometimes friendliness. He waved to Diomedes and then nodded to old Nestor as he passed.
Lesser Ajax called his name and the son of Thetis raised his hand in greeting. He continued walking until he reached the centre of the camp, where the command tent had been set up. It looked exactly like it had years prior.
He spotted the beggar a few seconds later and vaguely wondered why exactly one was on the Island and how he had gotten there. The man was dressed in torn and sullied rags, head low and back bent. He lurked near the tent, glancing down the whole time.
Achilles' eyes narrowed. Which king would have brought a beggar with them to war?
"Who are you?"
The man looked down, not answering. Achilles' voice turned hard as he repeated, "Who are you?"
The beggar bowed. "I wish you no harm. I wanted to speak to—" And then he recognised the voice. Instantly he was drawing a sword and levelling it against King Telephus' chest. Reaching out the prince pushed back the King's hood.
"What are you doing here?" He snarled. "Why were you lurking around the command tent?"
Telephus' hands were raised in surrender. He was white, pale and sickly. He looked sleep-deprived and tired. "I mean you no harm!" He said again. "I—" He was cut off by the sound of the tent flap being pulled open. Agamemnon stepped out, closely followed by Menelaus and Telamon Ajax. Achilles could already see several kings surrounding them.
"What is the meaning of this?" Agamemnon sounded enraged. "Why are you attacking a beggar, Prince of Phthia?"
"Why is there a beggar on Aulis in the first place?" Odysseus sounded confused. "The Island is a deserted one."
"It's not a beggar," Achilles spoke, pushing his sword closer to the man. "This is King Telephus of Mysia. The man who ordered us to be killed eight years ago before the storm scattered us all."
There were gasps and then weapons were being drawn. "No!" Telephus yelled. "I didn't come here to cause any harm! I need your help."
"You tried to have us killed by your army. We lost good men that day," Diomedes held his spear tighter. "Why would we help you?"
"I shall lead you Troy," The man promised, lowering his hands. "You cannot get there without a guide." There were murmurs from the soldiers around Achilles. He frowned. Telephus was right. They had already gotten lost once.
"What is your price?" Agamemnon asked.
Telephus reached for his rags and pushed away the piece of cloth covering his thigh. Achilles winced when he spotted the sore blistering red wound on the flesh. It was festering and probably infected and was still dripping with blood through hastily wrapped bandages.
"What?" Menelaus sounded disgusted and shocked at the same time. "How did that come to be?"
Telephus looked up, eyes narrowing. "The weapon of the leader of the Myrmidons caused this years ago. Achilles injured me with his spear." The prince lowered his sword in shock.
"And it hasn't healed since?" Nestor sounded incredulous and disbelieving.
Telephus shook his head. "The oracle of Apollo told me that he who caused it must heal it." He faced Achilles. Every head turned to stare at him and he took another step back in shock. "But—I have no medical experience."
"I need bits of metal from your spear to be placed on the wound to heal it." Telephus paused, then said, "In return, like I previously offered, I will lead you to Troy."
Achilles was silent. They needed the guide but he couldn't trust Telephus. Not after he had ordered for them not to be let go. "I swear on the Styx that I shall not harm any of you while with you and I shall hold up my end of the bargain."
Relief and satisfaction filled him. Nodding, he said, "Come, then. I shall help you."
-X-
PERSEUS ducked under a swing from the silver blade, cursing to himself. If he had been any slower he would have been decapitated by now. He jumped up almost instantly, swinging his sword as he went. Another silver knife blocked his strike and with strength only a god—or a goddess, in this case—could possess, Artemis pushed back.
"That's not fair at all," He called.
"Battle's never fair, Perseus," She smiled coldly, silver eyes glinting. And then she launched herself off the ground. It was all he could do to duck as her boot struck the earth, leaving an indent of her footprint in the spot he'd been before. Swearing once more he sidestepped as she hurled her knife, making her throw go wide.
And then he jumped forward, slashing with his sword. The moon goddess blocked his strike, then pushed him back again. Without warning she ducked low, swinging her foot underneath him. He was fast though. The son of Anchises jumped up, avoiding the limb and landed a few feet away. But Artemis was faster. She leaped towards him, and they clashed in a flurry of the sparks. Silver met his golden blade and they each tried to push the other away. "You're cheating," He said accusingly.
"Of course I am," She admitted. "Just because Apollo asked me not to injure you does not mean I can't have a little fun."
As if on cue, they reared back from one another, and clashed once more. It was hardly a fair battle, but she was holding back, that much he could see. They slashed at each other, jabbing, stabbing and parrying strikes. They spun around each other in a sort of dance, hacking and dodging, ducking and slashing. It was exhilarating and it made his heart pump as they fought, like they had started doing since news had come about the Greeks rallying at Aulis. Apollo had stopped training him—he'd thought him everything he knew. His mentor had then asked Artemis to pick up where they'd left off, and although she had hesitated at first, after a lot of persuasion from her brother, the maiden goddess had accepted.
"You're not giving it your all, though," He complained. "I want to get better, not be given a pity fight." Her eyes flared with silver light as anger filled her and the demigod smiled, at the fact that he had managed to rile her up.
Artemis attacked him with renewed vigour in a flurry of jabs and well-thought slashes. She was so fast she became a silver and white blur, making his vision hazy. Soon enough he was littered with small cuts. He could never defend against her when she got like this. He raised his spear to attack but then her foot slammed into his wrist making the sword fall. He cursed, ducking under another swing at his head.
The goddess knew though. She always did. Laughing, slammed her knee into his face and he toppled onto the ground.
Pain spread across his face as he cried out and clutched his nose. His hands came back bloody. He opened his eyes to see the auburn haired immortal standing above him. She stood like that each time she beat him in combat, since she started training him at seventeen summers. He was twenty-five now, and in all that time, he had defeated her just five times.
"You did that on purpose," She accused.
"Maybe," He groaned.
"And now you're hurt," She continued.
He snorted. "And who's fault is that?"
The girl rolled her eyes and held out a hand for him. He took it and allowed her to haul him up. "Thanks," He grunted. "It still hurts, though."
"Don't be such a boy," She said. "I'll get Apollo to help you."
"You could've not done it in the first place," He reminded.
The moon deity smiled, although it wasn't apologetic. "Come on, then," She said. "We must continue your archery practice."
This time he groaned out loud. He hated archery, so so much, and learning with Artemis was torture. Even after eight years he had never gotten the hang of it. Often, he cursed Apollo for asking her to teach him. He remembered telling Selene to do the same, all those years ago. But she hadn't returned since she had saved him from Skyros, and he hadn't heard from her since. He wished he could see her again.
He cocked his head to the side. When he had left the palace tonight Hector—who had been promoted to Polemarchos after the death of Alexandros eight years ago, for the purpose of preparing for war—had been rounding up training with the other soldiers.
Aeneas was away, as he had been since five years ago, when he had been given kingship over Dardania by Priam. Perseus had heard from him just the previous night though, and although he missed his brother dearly, he was happy for him.
In a span of eight years he, Perseus had risen through the ranks of the army and was now a general—one of the lowest of them, a Taxiarhos (Brigadier General) and Hector had mentioned something to him about a promotion two weeks ago. "Are you coming or not?" Artemis sounded exasperated and he was broken out of his musings by her voice.
All in all, things had been good. After that day in Skyros, Troy had long since been preparing for war. They had heard of the Greeks amassing at Aulis eight years ago and everyone had been waiting expectantly for their arrival. But it had never come. Apollo had informed him that Poseidon and Zeus had scattered the fleet because the Greeks had attacked another land mistaking it for Troy and had killed nearly a thousand men.
The goddess snapped her fingers in front of him suddenly, saying, "What exactly is going on in that mortal head of yours?"
He laughed shortly, then said, "It's nothing, let's go." His nose still throbbed, yes, but he had gotten used to the pain. Soon, Apollo would heal him and the cycle would continue at night again.
His thoughts drifted to his family. His father was doing well, as was Leto on Delos. He visited them both often. Artemis came by a lot too, because of their training, and Apollo, yes, they would never get past what his mentor had done to Cassandra, but the Princess hadn't had an episode in nearly eight years. She was good.
Nevertheless, although he had forgiven Apollo, he would never forget.
He was cut off from his thoughts once more when the air in front of him solidified. A familiar figure took shape before him and Artemis. She was taller now, clearly in adult form, but even though he hadn't seen her since she'd saved his life, he would remember those eyes anywhere. She still had luscious black hair, and those bright silver eyes which seemed to bore into his soul. She was dressed in a chiton similar to Artemis'—white, but covered in a black cloak.
She looked surprised to see him.
"Oh, Perseus," Selene said. "It's been a while."
He snorted. "Eight years isn't exactly just a while, Lady Selene."
She laughed, and he found himself smiling at the sound. "I'm sorry for not returning like I promised. Lord Zeus spotted me at Skyros and summoned me to remind me of the ancient laws and of how easily he could strip me from my immortality if I interfered in mortal lives again." Her lips were pursed.
Artemis frowned. "How come you never told me of this, Selene? And how did you know to find me here?"
"Zoë told me you were around this area," The Titaness answered. "And I did not wish to worry you."
"I hope Father didn't—"
"He tried nothing," Selene waved it aside. "I wanted to know if you've heard from Apollo lately? I need to speak with him. Urgently." Perseus didn't know why he felt a bit disappointed that she wasn't there to see him.
As though drawn by Selene's words, said sun god shimmered into existence in front of them, glowing golden. Instantly Perseus took note of his expression—he looked grave.
"Apollo," Selene turned to face him. "Good. You're here. We need to—"
He didn't acknowledge her. Instead, he looked Perseus straight in the eye. "The Greeks are coming."
A/N: I hope I haven't strayed too much from how their characters were before. I also hope you enjoyed it. Tell me what you think.
-TripleHomicide.