Beyond Trojan Walls

Hector smiled as he watched the babe in his arms, his strong and beautiful son, suckle gently on the roughened male finger, the infant mind having no idea of the horror the morning would bring. Leg curled under him on the massive bed, the warrior prince carefully laid the cherubic form onto the softness of the mattress as he adjusted the clothing comfortably around the infant as she spoke in lilting tones to the beauty that waited to return the boy to his cradle.

“Claudia,” he said in almost a whisper as his finger popped from the mouth of the baby to trail loving along the face of his son. “He grows every second of every day, ever changing and ever strengthening.” He looked toward his sister, a heavy sigh escaping his lips. “Would that she could see his vitality.”

“In all my wishes and dreams I dare not ask for more. I know that she sees him, even if she can not be here with him, with you, dear brother." She smiled and caressed the infant’s downy head, her heart breaking over and over again for the man beside her on the bed and the child he cherished so dearly. There was a moment of jealousy tangled within her heart, yearning to have been able to bask in a love such as theirs. Priam, her father, was a kind man, a great man. He did love her, but his love for her was nothing compared to that of his warrior son, and that of his beautiful Paris.

Hector smiled again, his dark eyes searching the cerulean blue of his sister’s as his hand brushed the soft curls from her cheek, the reddish tint radiating from her tresses in the light like the burst of daybreak after the blackest of night. “You must promise me, my sister. You must promise me that you will let no harm come to him should I fall on the morrow. That you will raise him to know that he was loved … by his father and mother. Let him never forget the names Hector and Andromache.” His hand moved to the back of her neck as he pulled her forehead to his in a gentle touch … an intimate gesture the siblings knew since youth as a sign of their familial love. “Promise me such.”

"The promise is made, brother. He will know all the love of you and your wife. He will know the love of his family. I will take him as my own child and marry unto a man that possesses your strength and courage, so that he may become the warrior you are, so that he may protect Troy," she promised, her word as strong as any man's, as strong as Hector himself. She lifted the babe from the bed and arranged him in her arms. "His feeding time is near. Do you wish to depart, brother, or watch as he is fed?"

His eyes moved to the child in her arms as he reached out to caress the soft head. “I wish to spend all the time I can with him before tomorrow’s campaign … lest each moment I could have spent with him be wasted.” He stretched back on the bed, his head held on his hand as his elbow kept his torso comfortably supported. “You will make a wonderful mother, Claudia. This, I have told you for years … and it has never been so proven as at this moment.”

"I would make a better Queen, Hector." She tilted her chin in an obstinate gesture, her eyes fired with the conviction of her words. Moving to the door she opened it and bid the woman waiting there to enter, to suckle the child in her arms. She gave the babe over and watched as the woman settled at the bed's end and opened her chiton to bare her naked breast. Claudia smiled with satisfaction as the infant quickly latched on and smacked noisily as the nipple.

Oblivious to the half nude woman nearby, Hector mimicked Claudia’s satisfaction as inserted his finger in the babe’s fist, acutely aware of the servant’s presence and the need to speak with care. “Women are to be adored … cherished, Claudia. It because of women that men fight to protect our lands and homes.” He turned to the wet nurse and nodded toward a chair by the window. “I will speak to my sister with privacy, if you please, Melior.” He tugged his finger away from the baby’s grip and smiled. “We will be but a moment, so please … do not take him far.”

"This I understand, brother, the way of men. But do you not see strength in me? Do you not see a need in me to serve Troy as more than a wife … more than simply the womb from which future warriors will be born? Am I nothing more than this woman's body?" She swept her hands down her womanly form, her anger rising at being told, yet again, that she was not good enough to serve Troy in a position of government, of power.

Hector sighed as he watched with hawkish protectiveness as the woman sat before the window with his son. Content with the fact that she was out of earshot, yet easily seen by both him and his sister, he reached across the bed and gave Claudia’s knee a comforting squeeze. “Dear sister, you know that I would agree with you if I could. It is difficult enough to try and keep father’s ear for myself … try to keep this impending war from destroying all we hold dear.” He moved closer to her, his arm wrapping around her shoulder in a brotherly embrace. “You have the heart of a warrior in a woman’s form. I am only thankful that you will be able to keep all well here at home! For no one can do it better.”

Claudia sighed and shook her head at Hector. "You will never understand how it feels to know you were born for a purpose but because you were born in the wrong form you are denied that for which you were born." She eased onto the bed and snuggled into his side, eager for the comfort only he could give her in such times. "Tell me of my mother, Hector?"

His arm snaked around her shoulders tenderly, his head resting on the top of her head as he watched the woman nursing his son and welled with emotion. “We have spoken of her so often, dear sister, that by now you could tell me of her.” His hand smoothed down her arm and eased away the gooseflesh that usually came with her anxiety. “What do you wish to hear?”

"Of my birth. Tell me of the day I was born?" She requested, following the path of his eyes. She adored this man, her brother, there was no other that could equal him and she had come to dread the day she would be wed to a man that was less than he. But their tender embrace was broken as the loud clear ringing of the bells at the gates. "Paris will see us all punished for his childish whims."

Hector stiffened as the sound met his ear, a stature appearing in the doorway. He knew the fair figure, immediately recognizing her as the object of all Sparta’s woes. “Helen,” he said as he kissed Claudia gently on the cheek, looking at her as he should … as if it may be the last time even he gazed upon his sister’s loveliness. “Stay … be a comfort to my sister and son while I go and attend the call.” Quickly moving from the bed with the grace of a panther, he moved to the armor held in an ever ready state at the far side of the room and removed his shirt, applying the leather studded breast plate. He turned for his sister to secure the fastens, unaware that Helen was stepping forward instead.

Claudia was at his side in an instant, spitting hatred and venom at the other woman through a challenging gaze. "Go, Helen, and see to the man that brought you to my father's house. Go and attend Paris, for he will surely need to bask in your love." Reaching out she secured her brother's armor with nimble practiced movements. "I will go to father, Hector, for he will want to know that I am safe and near. Then I will return to your son."

He nodded, craning his neck to look toward the stunned woman behind. “Helen, quickly! See to Paris … now!” As the woman left, he heaved a thankful sigh, not knowing how to broach the subject that brought him such discomfort, and looked forward again, his body erect with the pride of a country’s guardian. “Have Melior bring him with you. I would gain more comfort in the knowledge that he is in your sight every moment.”

"He will feel only my arms in such times. I will take him to father, Hector. Worry not over me or your son...OR her." She gave him a knowing look and then turned to the wet nurse nearby, taking the baby as she looked to her brother with pride. "Go with my ever lasting love, Hector."

He turned, then … his armor in place and shield in hand. The fingers of his free hand moved to caress the softness of his son’s cheek as he kissed the velvety head. “May the gods smile upon your life, my son.” His gaze moved to that of his sister, respect and admiration welling in him at her strength and fortitude. “Paris must not know her eye roams. It would be like death to him.” He smiled tenderly. “We will speak of the beauty that was your mother upon my return.” His hand smoothed her cheek as his forehead again touched hers. “And I will return, sister.” He smiled softly. “Achilles, himself, could not prevent it.”

Her senses perked at that name, Achilles, a name heard only from Hector's lips. She was ever curious about the Greek warrior that was said to be the son of a goddess. "My mother's memory can wait, brother. Speak to me of battles fought upon Troy's shores, of Greek blood spilt upon the sand. Speak to me of the great warrior who is Hector." She teased lovingly and then grew very serious. "Paris will never hear of Helen's weakness from me, brother. I do not wish Paris to be hurt, for it would be a sword through my own heart to watch him suffer."

Hector chuckled then, a wry, humorless sound. “He should have thought of such before he brought the Trojan queen to his bed in Sparta.” He shook his head, his eyes drifting to the babe in her arms. “My only solstice is that perhaps my mind is incorrect … that she simply wishes to be seen as a sister.”

"Hector…" She drew in a deep breath, measuring her words so as not to cause him more discomfort, but needing to be truthful with him. "You are not incorrect. I am a woman, a maiden true, but the looks she casts to you are nothing of a sister. She would have more than one man to her bed and feel nothing in her empty heart for her injury to Paris."

“I understand what you say, my sister,” he said softly, strong hands upon her straight shoulders. “Tell my son I love him. And I love you with all my being.” His embrace was fierce and adoring as he transferred his courage and love to her being. “I must go … the bells grow louder.” He kissed her cheek and brushed past her. Stopping at the door, he looked once more into her eyes, a playfulness to his gaze. “And I expect to find Helen alive and unharmed upon my return, sister.”

"It will not be by my hand that she falls, brother dear. This I swear upon." She smiled mischievously, fearing for him to leave, yet eager to hear of his battles and the one man that would have surely sailed from Troy. With each whisper of his name she grew more curious. "Hurry to battle, brother, and may the goods blessings shine upon your shoulders."


Hector wasted no time mounting his stallion and leading his men through the gates of Troy, towards the sea. There would be plenty to do there, beating back the Greeks before they could gain a foot hold on Trojan soil. Topping the rise, his eyes widened, seeing the Greeks swarming the temple of Apollo. "To the temple!" He shouted, raising his spear and charging forward.

The fair headed warrior watched as the legion of horsemen distantly approached the temple. A small smile of satisfaction crept upon his countenance as he continued leading his men in the temple’s pillage. Apollo … god prophesy, music and healing. He almost laughed audibly as he swung his sword, causing the heavy stone arm to fall from the statue of the deity. Battle always brought about this side of him … and he could smell on the wind that the worst was yet to come. Where was Apollo now for these spiritual warriors? He did chuckle then as he thought … probably on Mount Olympus enjoying the pleasures of Aphrodite while his subjects died. He looked toward the horizon again. “RIDERS,” he yelled, stationing for battle. Oh, yes. The worst was yet to come … and the excitement ran rampant through his veins like wine poured from a flask.

Nearing the temple, Hector jumped from his stallion’s back and raced to battle the trespassers on Trojan soil. “Kill all who have dared to enter the temple!" He ordered his men as they, too, swung from their mounts. Lifting his head as he ran across the sucking sand, he saw the warrior, mocking him and everything he held dear.

Achilles stood, his sword drawn, eyes daring even a single man to pass as he bordered the temple’s doorway. “Pass, if you dare try,” he rumbled, eyes reaching the man he instinctively knew to be the leader as his fingers gripped the sword with a lover’s touch. “I’m in need of the exercise.”

"And I am in need of seeing your blood upon the blade of my sword," Hector countered, drawing his own sword. The metal hummed softly as it was pulled from its sheath. "Do not play the fool here. Leave this temple and the shores of Troy and all will be forgotten." It was an offer of peace and the last that he would extend.

Stepping forward, but remaining just out of arm’s length, Achilles rested a foot upon what had been the sword hand of Apollo. “Nothing is ever forgotten, Tojan.” His eyes scanned the men behind the leader and then returned his gaze before him. “You are the prince? The one they call Hector?”

"I am! And who are you, Spartan?" Hector barked, his face set with unwavering determination.

Eyes sparkled in the bright sunlight as the golden-haired warrior stood to his full height, never once losing his hold on the weapon in his grasp. “I am Achilles.” He thrust his sword foreword, pointing to the dark prince. “Remember the name, Prince Hector! For in this life … and the next … and the next after, it will be the name of your enemy … the name of your judge and the name of your executioner.” He stepped toward the man, again keeping the barest amount of distance between himself and the man’s blade. “Return Helen …” He sneered. “And all will be forgotten.”

"Nothing will be forgotten, Spartan. You dare set foot on Trojan sand without and invitation and now you will die for it," Hector responded, thrusting his sword toward Achilles … and the battle was waged.

Swipe, thrust, lunge and parry … every movement made by Hector was dodged and seconded by Achilles as the combat ensued. The man was good … very good as every muscle in the hardened Spartan’s body screamed for mercy. But mercy was not to be had. In one last attempt to overcome, Achilles leapt into the air extending his sword arm past and under his opponent’s shield, bearing down and nicking the warrior’s shoulder. Pressing the man to the ground, the sword was hefted to Hector’s neck, pinning him to the ground beneath Achilles sandaled foot. “Return Helen,” he spat, willing the man to refuse so that the battle may continue.

"Kill me now, Achilles, it will change nothing. Helen will remain behind the gates of Troy from all the life that is left to her," he challenged, his sword still poised to strike a blow at Achilles inner thigh.

Fair head moving closer to ebony head, the maddened warrior kicked the offensive weapon from Hector’s hand. “You’re a fool,” he kissed, pushing off the man’s chest and pacing backward. “This can all be ended here … for what? A girl you care nothing for? One life for what could conceivably be tens of thousands?” Achilles took in great gulps of air … readying himself again for battle as he allowed the man the time to retrieve his sword. “I will kill you. And more would be the shame for you to die … an artist in the ways of war … for the childish actions of a boy who could not keep his tunic tied soundly round his hips?”

"The boy is my brother and my loyalty lies with him. You are correct in one thing; I care nothing for her and were it not for the wishes of my king, my father, and my brother I would eagerly send her back to Sparta. I would send her back soundly drowned for all that she has caused." Surely his confession of an unwanted war had fallen on deaf ears, Hector thought, rolling to his feet with his sword soundly grasped within his hand.

The men stood momentarily, swords pointed toward one another in defensive poses, until a loud cry was heard from deep within the throat of Achilles as he charged, his body as agile as a cat ready to strike its prey, sword swinging and catching merely the metal of shield. Back still to the man, every nerve a frenzy of lightening streams, he cried out, again, and then lowered his voice for Hector, and him alone … admitting the one thing his men and Hector’s could never know. “I do NOT want to kill you, prince!”

Neither do I wish to spill your blood, Achilles, but I will not stand and watch as you and your men defile that which is Trojan. Leave this temple and we will battle no more this day." Hector's voice had dropped to that of Achilles, a private counsel between two great warriors.

His face a blank canvas, eyes simmering with the words spoken by the Trojan, Achilles spoke through gritted teeth. “It seems to me there is very little to be done to accomplish what you suggest?” He stepped closer, his sword close enough to puncture. “I take my men from the temple before the sight of your men, and it is humiliation for my warriors. You turn your men away before I give the order to vacate the temple and your men think you a betrayer of …” He rolled his eyes. “Apollo.” He sighed. “What shall we do?”

"I can see only one way," Hector told his enemy, his face neutral then. "We give the order to retreat in the same instant."

Achilles’ eyes narrowed then as he contemplated Hector’s words. Moving closer, his sword almost touched the man’s neck. “Betray me, prince, and all that will be heard after your betrayal is the whisper of your well-slit throat.” He stepped back then, and nodded. “Agreed.”

Hector let the threat go, not fearing the man's words at all. “Agreed." He then raised his sword and stepped back. "At my word we will retreat. Speak now, Achilles," he demanded as he opened his mouth to give the command to retreat from the temple, from the shore.

With a slight sneer on his face, Achilles raised his powerful arm in the air, fingers grasped tightly around the hilt of his sword. “Vacate the temple, drop or return all that was looted and retreat from its premises … NOW!” Achilles shouted, a myriad of authority in his strong voice. Without looking back, he kept his eyes on Hector’s. As expected, man after man exited the temple, hands empty and eyes blazing with anger as they took their position behind their leader.

Hector took the steps of the temple slowly, still facing his enemy. His men waited mounted below for him, ready to retreat from the sands and return to their homes and wives behind the gates of Troy. "Achilles, rest well this night… for on the morrow battle looms."

With a sarcastic flourish meant for the amusement of his men, the warrior bowed his head. “We shall treat this night as if it could be our last.” He chuckled. “Of course, that is how we always live life.” He motioned his men. “Away, to the encampment. There is much food to be eaten, wine to be drunk and women to be bedded.” He gave Hector another meaningful glance, then turned and marched off with his men.

The cool water exhilarated the already tingling senses of the warrior Achilles as he swam in the solitude of the ocean a good distance away from the encampment. The sun lowering in the sky, the late afternoon heat was pleasant, rather than oppressive, as he used the time alone to wash the blood of the day’s battle from his skin, the dust of the desecrated temple from his hands, and the excitement of war play from his mind. Becoming one with a crashing wave, he allowed his body to go slack as the foamy water carried him to the shore. Stepping from the water, the sun kissing the droplets along his bronzed, nude form in a sparkling dance, the man shook the moisture from his blonde locks, brushing the wet hair from his eyes as he breathed in the seclusion. His inner peace was broken as he heard the hoof beats sounding from the dune above. Looking up, he recognized the familiar armor of Hector, Prince of Troy, and sighed. Moving to the cotton cloth near his own armor, he proceeded to dry the salt water from his flesh as he kept his gaze along the dune, watching with keen eye the rider nearby.

Horse and rider topped the dune and gazed down on the lone man standing so unprotected at the water's edge, so solitary. The sight of him with the waning sun illuminating him in all his golden glistening splendor was enough to steal the breath from the woman beneath the metal helm. Claudia simply stared as she tried to control the spirited horse below her. She was an excellent rider, but Hector's horse was even too much for her to handle. The horse tossed its head and wheeled and she fought to bring him back around to get a better look at the warrior below, a full view of his nude form. She liked what she saw and for the first time in her life the sight of a nude male sent an unfamiliar surge of lust through her. "Gods, what is this man you have set in front of me." She had not intended to come so close to him. Riding far down the beach from the encampments, she had planned to ride along the edge of the dune in hopes of getting a look at the warrior of whom her brother had spoken.

“Hector!” Achilles shouted as he wrapped the linen material around his waist, tying it into submission. “I am alone … strike me down now or dismount and meet with me as men are intended to meet!”

Claudia shook her head, knowing that she could not speak, knowing she could never sound like Hector. She remained where she was struggling still with the horse below her, fearing he would bolt at any moment and she would loose the sight of the beautiful man before her.

“I said face me!” came the bellow from near the shore. Achilles took his sword from its sheath, his body clad only in the thin linen wrapped round his waist, and took a mocking stance, a smile lighting his face. “Or shall we spar yet again?”

Again, she shook her head, daring herself to remain there upon the dune longer than she knew was wise. Her body began to tremble from the exertion of handling the beast between her thighs and the excitement of looking down on the one warrior that was equal to her brother, a man she could respect.

Stepping forward with the incredible graceful movements of one well trained, Achilles stopped mere yards from the form on horseback. Extending his sword, he spoke softly, his voice becoming almost friendly. “Dismount from your steed and face me as conspirators in crime … or do you not consider our day of peace to be worthy of some sort of friendship, no matter how short lived?”

She could not tempt fate any longer and reined the horse in the opposite direction of the man, knowing from his words that this visit would have cost Hector a valuable alliance, but the war horse reared. She was unprepared and clawed for purchase, attempting to hang on to the animal's back. "Goddess," she gasped before tumbling hard to the sand.

Laughter on his lips, Achilles smiled, until he noticed the form’s stillness. Moving quickly to the armored body, he took a knee. He had known immediately before hitting the sand this was not Hector. One arm holding the sword above the potential enemy, he quickly used his free hand to flip the light form onto its posterior. “Better you should have run than face the warrior, Achilles, on your back in the sand.” Reaching toward the helm, he kept the weapon secured on the throat of his opponent. “Let’s see the eyes of the man who sought to slay me.”

Claudia lay perfectly still, not giving the warrior above her any reason to see her as more of a threat than she was. She blinked wildly as the helm was jerked from her head and a shaft of parting sunlight struck her eyes. "Better to face you than my brother once he has learned I have stolen his horse....And....His armor....And left the city....And..."

The dazzling brightness of her auburn tresses was breathtaking, so like a living, breathing entity was her hair. Falling onto his hindquarters, he found his composure very quickly and smiled sardonically. “So, the mighty Hector is now sending his women to save Troy?” She could have been Aphrodite herself, so deeply engrained was her beauty, even in the over large male garb that covered her. “Is this the best that he can send to defeat me, and after a pledge to spill no more blood this day?”

"Do not be a fool, Achilles." She managed to scramble to her knees and shove her face close to his mockingly. "My brother does not know I am here. He thinks me safe within the walls of Troy, doing all things a woman should." She grunted in disgust then. "He will have me whipped when he finds that I have left." Her eyes narrowed then as she let her eyes slide over him, over every sinewy inch of him. "Hector, spoke of a warrior among the Greek that was his equal. I did not believe his words." She shrugged then, knowing she was pushing this man more than she should. "Still I do not believe his words."

His heat beat recklessly as her speech began to boil his blood. Even before this encounter he had been in need of a woman … now he was desperate for one. Snaking his muscular arm around her waist, his hand grasped the hilt of the sword that hung at her hips. Pulling it out slowly, he pressed the steel into her hand and backed away, a sly smile on his face as he, then, took in the contrast between the beauty of her face and hair and the forceful appearance of her as a potential opponent. “Then let me make you believe them.”

Her eyes widened as she shook her head. "Do not do this, Spartan." She backed away and lifted the sword, breathless at the beauty that stood before her in the male form. Hector had taught her the sword when she was a young girl refusing to march forth into womanhood, to sooth her upset that she would never be allowed to march into battle with him, but she was not Hector.

His eyes smiled, his sword lowering slightly, anxious to see what the woman could do with a weapon. “Fear not, princess,” he said deeply and with an air of honesty. “I’ll not harm a daughter of Troy … nor anyone else’s daughter.” His eyes took on a twinkle as his voice became lilting, his pose one of defense, rather than attack. “Let’s play.”

"Do not call me such! Never, Spartan!" She lifted the sword and swung low, eager to make him move, make him dance for her. "I am Claudia of Troy and nothing more."

He swirled around quickly, his feet moving as graceful as any dancer as he appeared behind her, his hand at her shoulder and blade at her back. “But you are the sister to Hector, Prince of Troy, no.” He danced again, as was before her, his sword clanking with hers before he backed away and assumed another defensive position. “Explain, Claudia of Troy.”

"I would explain, could I understand myself, Achilles." She whirled and blocked a thrust aimed below her breast. "I know only that I am a woman and have no voice. I can not serve Troy. So, I am Claudia and that is all."

Impressed with her ability, he let the melee continue, finally ending it by grasping her waist and throwing her easily to the ground, his sword aimed at her heart as he kneeled beside her. “You have a voice … and a lovely one, it is … lyrical in its sound and cadence.” He moved his face closer, mesmerized by the strong female. “Do you not enjoy your womanhood?” For his body was enjoying being close to hers.

"I enjoy much about it..." She replied, panting lightly. She trembled with his nearness, enjoying it but fearing it also. "Tell me of Achilles. Who is this warrior?"

He withdrew his sword then, placing it on the ground beside him as he sat watching her gaze at him, her breast plate rising and falling with her erratic breathing. “He is the warrior that was sent by Agamemnon to end this war.” He let his eyes fall to the sand beside the sword. “And until I met your brother, there was only one way to do so. Now, it does not seem so simple.”

"Tell me why you believe it not simple now, Achilles." She tilted her head in the sand and smiled up at him, full lips turning up at the corners. She loved the way the setting sun gleamed against his blonde hair, creating a halo for her eyes, for her pleasure.

Staring down into her gaze, he thought her the loveliest creature he had ever seen. He could not answer her question without losing credibility as a warrior of Sparta … so he spoke of another thought inside his mind. With a chuckling smile, his sensitive fingers moved to brush a fine, thin layer of sand from her upper arm, the gesture taking what seemed like a lifetime. “Tell me this, instead.” His hand stayed upon her skin after the sand was gone. “Why did you cry, ‘Do not do this, Spartan,’ when I poised myself for melee with you.” His eyes then burned into her as with the knowledge that his thoughts were correct. “You wanted to fight me.”

"I wanted to..." She let her words trail off as she stared at him, as she thought of what exactly she had wanted from this man. She sighed. "To battle you was not what I wanted. I had never thought to get this close to you."


A fair eyebrow rose as he pinned her to the sand with his arms, his torso low enough on her heaving chest for her to feel the warmth of his breath as his face neared. “Then what was it you wanted, fiery one?”

"Only to know you, Achilles," she whispered almost reverently, her voice filled with raw emotion that she was unaware of.

His eyes gazed into hers for long moments, until the reality of who he was and why he was on the shores of Troy broke through his softening mind. “Well, if that is what you wanted …” Face contorted in a sneer, he berated himself for allowing his head to swim with the beauty of this woman … to believe she could look at him as a man and as well as the god-like form extolled in stories. He grasped his sword and pushed himself upward again, “Then behold the Achilles you wished to know.” With one last look, he turned his back and re-sheathed his sword in its scabbard, tossing his weapon upon the woolen blanket that held his armor as he shook his hair again to the sun for drying. “Take from our meeting what you wish.”

She blinked several times, trying to understand how the moment between them had turned so quickly. Slowly, her eyes narrowed and the fire of anger ignited in her belly. He was dismissing her, that was clear. "I shall do just that, Spartan. I will take with me the image of a small boy, to fearing of the world beyond him to lay down his sword for even a moment. Battle is easy for you, Achilles of Sparta, for there is nothing more inside you." The words spat at him, she turned and took a retreating step towards her distant Troy.

“There is no being on Olympus or on earth,” he said loudly, his back still turned so as not to allow the despair on his face to betray him. “No being that breathes that knows what is inside me, Claudia of Troy, for there is none that have thought to ask.” Bending from the waist, he grasped his breastplate to begin the awkward task of applying it solely. “You fight well, little one,” he said more softly, but with the authority of the gods. “Do not let your skills go to ruin.” Compliments did not become him … but there he stood, half-naked in the Grecian sun, complimenting this slip of a girl.

She turned back to him with lightening in her eyes, anger fueling her every move. She strode to him and shoved him roughly, shoved him with more strength than she knew she possessed. "I have thought to ask what is inside you and you turn away. You mock me for my trouble and retreat like the child you are. Fight with your strength, Achilles, for you will never fight with a heart and soul."

Had he not been prepared for her attack, he would have tumbled into the sand. As it was, he caught her movement from the corner of his eye, his muscles tensing to create the brick wall he knew his body could become. As he turned to her, his face was painted with the sardonic smile for which he was so noted … yet there was almost playfulness in his eyes. “To be accused of immaturity by one little more than a child herself is moot … so try not to pique my anger in that manner.” His sight remained locked on her as he twisted his torso to secure the plate’s fastens. “My heart and soul are hidden treasures … buried deeply to be found by the one who does not fear the work it will take to locate them.” With a smile, he flicked his hair from his eyes as he bent to apply his leg armor, his calf lifted high on a stone before her. “Would you be such a woman?”

"Hardly. What are the rewards for such tedious work?" She charged him then, hoping to throw him off balance with his leg raised in such a manner. Her slight body impacting against his hard flesh knocked the very breath from her.

Instinct made him move quickly, taking the falling form into his strong arms, stopping her just as she would hit the sand, her back landing on his knee with such softness that she barely connected. His face was close to hers, then. Startlingly close and his body tensed with the feel and scent of her in his hold. “The rewards,” he breathed roughly, “would be vast and immeasurable.” His smile turned melancholy then. “But I have yet to find such a woman in my travels. Thus, my body belongs to battle.” His eyes met hers again. “Until claimed by her.”

"Who is 'her', Achilles, this woman of your dreams? How will you know her, and she you?" She asked, lifting her hand to his shoulder, lightly caressing the sun warmed skin there. Her anger was quickly drowned and heated longing replaced it.

His eyes flicked quickly to the hand that branded his skin as sure as any fired iron would, his body tensing with restrained … what? Longing? Desire? His hand covered hers as he tried desperately to keep his face the ferocious mask he hoped it to be. “She will fight with me, not fear me.” His thumb began a slow caress on the soft, sensitive palm at his shoulder. “She will desire me, not shy from me. And most of all …” He sighed, his gazed over her shoulder into the brightness of the sunlight, his eyes tearing at the harshness of its rays. “Most of all, she will seek to understand me as well as to have me understand her.” He shook away the fantasy and looked again into her eyes, the brightness of the light having made his eyes see her form in a heavenly, surreal glow. “How she will know me is not mine to say … it is hers to find me.”

“You think not that there is a woman thinking the same thing? That it is you who must find her?" she questioned, working her hand slowly along his shoulder until she was stroking the glistening column of his neck. "And what of love, Achilles? Do you yearn to feel such a thing?"

He chuckled slightly, his eyes closing as the warmth of her hand soothed the aches from battle that perpetually settled there. “There is no woman alive that would desire me for a mate.” His eyes opened, searing into her beautifully blue orbs. “For an evening, yes … for a novelty, most certainly … but never for a lifetime.” A sad smile came to his lips then as his hand moved to her forearm, caressing softly the satiny skin there. “And if a woman is a woman thinking the same thing … that I must find her … then we are not matched, are we?” His gaze told that he understood her words … understood that she needed a man who would claim her instead of the other way around. “More’s the pity, my little one.”

"There was no answer to my question in your words. What...of...LOVE, Achilles? Tell me what it is to you?" She demanded, her hand working the tight and tense muscles below the skin.

He sighed, partly in contentment, for the hand on his flesh was as scintillating as anything he had ever experienced in this life, and part from the frustration of what he was about to admit. “When I was a youth,” he said softly, “love to me was the scent of a willing woman and the feel of a warm pallet beneath us.” His head fell back on his neck, inhaling deeply the scent of the ocean mixed with the distinctive fragrance of Claudia of Troy. “Now that I am a man … a warrior … a weapon bred for killing … now I believe that love is a woman being able to tolerate who I am and what I have done these long, long years.” His head snapped up, his hand grasping her wrist as the other took her chin into his fingers, forcing her eyes to look into his once again. “You have heard of my excellence on the battlefield, no?”

"Yes, Achilles, Hector has recounted your victories to me. He has spoke of each in great detail. I know of the blood you've spilt. Why do you ask this?" Her gaze was bound to him, unwavering. Her heart beat wildly against her ribs as if it wished to take flight, but she did not fear him. It was something very different than fear that affected her.

Achilles smiled, feeling the pulsing rhythm of her heart against his chest as it thumped through the masculine armor she wore, his fingers opening and splaying across her smooth cheek. “But never has he spoken of my prowess as a lover. Never, because these tales are not shared about warrior such as I. Death … destruction … annihilation … these are all that interests the world when speaking of the great Achilles.” His fingers caressed the sensitive area just below her left ear as his face lowered to hers, keeping a literal breath away. “My skill in the bed chamber is as unsurpassed as my skill on the battlefield.”

"Do you imagine I think upon such a thing, Achilles?" Her small pink tongue darted out, wetting her suddenly arid lips. "Think not that I dwell more upon the things in a man that could serve me more than a night? I place more import on compassion, purpose, and loyalty than what a man can accomplish with his root." But her words were only a portion of the truth. She did think about how it would be to have this man between her thighs. She imagined him ushering her into true womanhood. She drew in a deep breath then, refusing to allow him to know any of those wayward thoughts.

Had she slit his throat with the sword at her hip, she could not have hurt him any more deeply. But he kept his face neutral, only his eyes showing any sign that she had even spoken. Breathing deeply to keep his temper and control his humiliation, he snaked his hand around the back of her neck and pulled her face to his, claiming her mouth in a deep, searing kiss, his tongue plunging into her unsuspecting mouth to dance wildly inside the sweet, warm cavern before forcing his body to cool, pushing her from him, his eyes still showing his feelings, even if his countenance did not. “No. Such a man would not do for you, Claudia of Troy.” He forced his bottom lip not to quiver in any way as he continued his deep intake of breath. “Never would a Spartan warrior be good enough …” He turned his back, bending to grasp his leather studded arm bands, the last of his armor. “Leave me in peace … give me at least what your brother did.”

"I will go, but first I will say what is in my heart, even if you will not." She drew in a deep shuttering breath, tears gathering at the corners of her oceanic eyes. "Never have my lips touched another's and from this day forth I will have them touch no other but the man that lay first claim. In my heart I believe there is more to you, Achilles, than your prowess with a sword … and more to appreciate than your talent within a bed chamber." She turned from him then, set to make the long trek back to the city of her birth. "You say a Spartan warrior would never be enough for me. You do not know so very much. A Spartan warrior would be enough to make me happy and content for the rest of my days."

He turned then, watching her retreating for with a melancholy admiration. Again, propping his foot upon the small boulder and resting his forearms on the knee it created, he had to smile. “Claudia,” he shouted, resistant to let her leave until the very last moment.

She turned and lifted her down cast face. "Yes, Achilles?"

His smile turned teasing, the wind lifting her fiery locks and gently laying them again upon her shoulders wreaking havoc with his senses. “Will you tell your brother of our meeting here … that you watched me bathing in the sea?”

"Yes." She sighed, looking toward the east and the stars just appearing in the sky. "I will tell him of meeting a man. I will tell him that my heart is lost and I will never be whole again." Turning she began her march anew.

Taking his sword and pushing himself from the stone, he moved swiftly forward. “Evening comes quickly. I will ride with you to the walls of Troy.” Taking the reins of his horse, he made short work of mounting and riding to her own horse’s side. “You may not respect or desire either of my swords, little one.” He smiled in an oddly tantalizing fashion. “But I will die before I see harm come to you in the night.” Slipping from his steed, he reached out his hand to help her mount.

She stood staring up at him, torn between refusing to allow him to see her to Troy and begging him not to leave her at all. The latter options was certainly one that she could never indulge in, so she grasped his hand without a word, heartsick that he could have so horribly mistaken her words. Could he not understand that she wanted him like no other? Again, she was torn with leaving him with the impression that she did not desire him, that he would not be enough for her. She could not. Once settled in front of him, she turned her head and kissed him clumsily over her shoulder.

Feeling a flutter in his belly that had not appeared since his first experience with a maid, he allowed his hand to cradle the back of her head, swiftly lifting her and turning her form until she rested in his lap, never once breaking the contact of their tentative lips … until the fire ignited inside him. Laying claim to her mouth once again, his tongue sought refuge in the warm moistness that it caressed, memorizing every particle of her honeyed mouth. “You need protection from men like me,” he mumbled through the heated kiss. “Is your brother a fool to leave you alone to tempt the wicked like me?” His mouth then extracted from hers to slide gently, yet boldly down the curve of her throat.

Her delicate fingers wandered swiftly from his cheek to tangle in his hair and to slide along his neck. It was then, with him laving his hot, wet tongue along her throat that she realized, to her confusion that her hips were rocking forward against him. That she was in such intimate contact that she was panting like one of the women Hector brought to his chamber to ease his lust.

"There is no protection from you, Achilles. My heart has already made itself known and there is nothing that can turn the tide of its will now."

Feeling the hardening in his groin, he realized this was not like the desire he needed to sate when with the women who sought his body only to boast of lying in the bed of the great Achilles. No, this was an arousal born of the physical and the spiritual … the body and the mind. He wanted to know this woman in every way possible … and yet, he knew she could never truly be his. “Claudia,” he whispered, seconds away from baring his soul to her and her alone. And then his keen, warrior’s ear heard the rider’s approach. “Quickly,” he hissed. “To your horse!” Lifting her with the ease of a feather, he placed her soundly upon her own mount, handing the reins to her as he moved his horse forward to meet the familiar rider.

Odysseus pulled his mount to halt just yards away from his friend, his eyes not able to keep from the feminine form in armor at Achilles rear right side. Leaning his forearms on the high neck of his animal, the man looked suspicious. “Your men have need of you, friend.” He turned to the woman and nodded respectfully. “Odysseus … King of Ithaca.” He looked up, a well practiced smile on his lips. “And you are?”

“None of your concern,” Achilles barked, urging his horse forward. “She is a daughter of Troy and I mean to see her safely to its walls.”

Odysseus surveyed the situation and moved closer to the woman. “As I said, your men have need of you. If the lady is willing, trust me to see her safely home.”

“No!” stormed Achilles. “It is mine to do.” He turned to Claudia, almost as if for affirmation, his temper kept only because the man was among his oldest and dearest.

She laid a soothing hand on Achilles’ bicep. "I know this man," she whispered, hoping her words fell only upon Achilles ears. “I swear it, I do."

Eyes narrowing, Achilles spoke softly, his voice for Claudia alone. “You know him? How so? You wish him to see you home?” His eyes flicked quickly to Odysseus before returning to her.

"No. I do not wish to leave your company a moment sooner than I must." She shook her head, eyes squarely on the king before them. "Achilles…" She began to tremble and tears sprang to her eyes before she could quell them. "This man, this king, he was brother to my mother. He is uncle to me."

Straightening his shoulders, a fair brow was lifted as Achilles shifted his gaze from first Claudia, to Odysseus, and back again. “Your uncle?” He turned to Odysseus but continued speaking to the woman whose words confused him. “You are not pure Trojan?”

The king of Ithaca simply smiled at the woman, admiration in his eyes. “Hello, my niece.”

"Uncle," she gasped, letting her eyes slide fully over him. "How did you know? My father has never spoken of you laying eyes on me before."

“And I have not … not since the day of your birth.” Odysseus smiled as he slid from his horse and moved gracefully toward hers, stopping just short of her mount. “How very much like your mother you look.” He spoke softly, as if in a dream. “The same sparkling eyes … same fiery hair.” He sighed. “You have turned into a beautiful woman, Claudia.”

"Even though my blood is mixed with Trojan? Does that dim my beauty in your eyes, uncle?" She trembled before this man, her heart racing wildly, fear squeezing her throat tight. Never had she so feared be turned away from another as this man, this man that she had been denied all her life.

The king’s gaze became tender, compassionate. “The blood of my blood runs through your veins, niece.” He lifted his hand to her, his impressive form nearing her horse’s side. “To deny you is to deny myself.”

Claudia smiled with all the radiance of a morning sunrise as she extended her arms for the king of Ithaca to lift her from the horse’s back. "Then you will welcome me as your blood?"

Easing her body into the air, Odysseus pulled her to his body in a familial embrace. “With all my heart,” he said softly, noting the look of confusion in the eyes of the man still astride his mount.

Achilles held tight to his rein, his mind a maze of emotion ranging from befuddlement to something akin to jealousy. His friend had now taken a place, ergo a paternal place, in the life of this woman just as easily as Achilles had, himself.

"Love is within my heart for you, uncle. I have wondered and thought of you as I have grown," she whispered, hugging him fiercely.

A happy smile ran along the lines of his face and Odysseus loosened his grip on the only remaining lifeline to his beloved sister. Running his hand soothingly across her cheek, pride welled in his chest. Taking her hand, he moved her toward the large stone that Achilles had rested his foot against earlier, urging her to sit there while he eased to his haunches beside. “Tell me … tell me of your world, for I have long believe you gone from this life.”

With a silent snort, Achilles kicked his horse into movement, taking him away from the two and back to the blanket where his remaining belongings lay. Sliding from his horse in a loud thud, he knelt to gather them, shoving each in turn into the leather pouch at his horse’s side, his eyes glaring daggers at the two every now and again.

Claudia looked longingly to where Achilles knelt, and sighed. "I am told I am a princess of Troy, uncle. Priam as been a wonderful father and my brothers love me dearly as I do them." Another sigh and she hung her head.

Odysseus followed her gaze and inwardly smiled knowingly. Returning his eyes to the beauty before him, he took her hand. “It pleases me to know that you have been raised happily as a princess of Troy.” He laced his fingers with hers. “Do not be vexed, my niece. Now that I know of your continued existence, nothing save death will be able to keep me from being family to you.”

Achilles shoved the last article into the pouch as he secure its opening tightly. Throwing the blanket over the horses back, he took his sword and pressed it violently into the scabbard attached to the animal’s side. His men waited, yet he loathed leaving, as if he could pull the beauty away from his friend’s embrace.

"Uncle, I could hope for nothing more but what of this war? Troy or Sparta may win but I will be the one to lose no matter." She adapted a watery smile and cut her eyes again to Achilles.

Seeing the pain in the eyes of his Trojan niece, Odysseus again followed her gaze, speaking with hurried candor, as he knew Achilles would soon leave to save face. “Tell me what you would have me do … speak plainly and with honesty.” He took her cheek in his fingers easing her eyes back to his. “And tell me why.”

"I can tell you nothing, beloved uncle; I can only say that I have lost my heart here upon this beach. You and this man to whom my heart belongs could be lost to me on the morrow." Tears tumbled down her cheek them, her lower lip trembling with each word. "Tell me how you can prevent such a thing?"

With a smile, he instinctively knew the woman she could be, the mind that could dazzle any man of intelligence. “Perhaps you could help me to end this … to bring about a peace that could bring our lands together.”

In the distance, Achilles took the flask from his pack, pulling the cork and pouring the wine freely into his mouth before re-stopping the skin and leaning his back against the side of his stallion, placid only for his master.

"I will do what so ever that I can to keep Greek and Trojan blood from being spilt here. What is it your mind has set upon to end this, uncle?" She urged him, feeling restlessness deep inside, feeling as if she was being called to from some unseen force. She shifted against the rock below her over and over, her eyes roaming to Achilles over and over.

“I have no plan set in my mind as of this moment, Claudia.” He smiled at her unease, knowing its source and surprising himself by being content in her immediate affections for the surly warrior across the way. “This is why I need your thoughts … your mind. To help devise a plan that will afford us all what we want and need … Trojans and Spartans, alike.”

Achilles continues his informal stance, choosing then to toss his hair back and secure it with the leather thong … anything to buy him a few more precious seconds in sight of the beauty who now deserted him for a king.

"Allow my sleep to guide me, uncle, for I have solved many a problem through dreams visited upon me. I will meet you here, upon this spot, on the morrow if our armies have not come together. I will meet with you here at the setting of the sun. What say you to this?" She tugged her lower lip between her teeth, nibbling delicately, trying to force herself to remain seated before her uncle. She wanted nothing more than to run across the sand to the golden warrior whom seemed unaffected by her.

With a broad smile, the older man kissed her head, pulling her into another familial embrace. “It shall be as you say. Until tomorrow, then, my niece.” Touching her face, he sighed at its perfection before turning swiftly. “Come, Achilles!” he boomed over the sailing air. “Your men await!”

The warrior pushed his back from the horse, re-stopped the flask from which he was drinking again, and wiped his mouth with his forearm. “I come,” he returned gruffly as he placed the drinking vessel securely among his necessities, his eyes flicking quickly upon Claudia before returning to the task at hand.

"Uncle!" She rushed after him, laying a gentle hand upon his thigh as he mounted his horse. "Can his men not wait? I have need of him."

Odysseus smiled, knowingly, as he patted her hand soothingly before taking the reins. “The men are his … they follow his orders and his alone. The man you should be asking is not I, my niece, but him.” He smoothed a hand through her bright hair once more and gently tugged the reins causing the horse to turn. With a soft kick, he was of, the sand from the kicking hooves trailing upon the wind. Achilles mounted then, keeping his horse still as hard eyes sought hers from across the distance, not wanting or allowing her to see within.

She marched stubbornly back to her horse, back to Achilles side, the hint of a smile playing about her lips. "See now, Achilles, a Spartan warrior would be more than enough for me."

“I see,” came the velvety smooth voice that so contrasted the hardened warrior’s appearance. He rested the reins in his hands, leaning forward, his powerful forearms resting on his strong thighs. “As long as that Spartan be family, no, little one?” His full lips tilted upward in a smile as he drank in the sight of her. “This, I will say. King Odysseus is a fine man.” He sighed, knowing there few he would call comrade in every sense of the word. “And a true friend.”

She sighed deeply and turned her face up to the darkening sky as if imploring the gods for a wealth of patience with the man before her. "See what you will, Achilles. I know the truth of what could be."

A grin crawled across his face giving him the impression of an impish youth. “They won’t help you,” he said teasingly.

"They will help me, if with no more than to ease my impatience with your foolish words, Spartan." She laughed as if her words were the funniest she had ever heard. "Gods or no, I will get through that hardened skull of yours, Achilles. It surprises me that you even require a helm in battle at all, so hard is your head."

He smiled, truly smiled, at that comment, glancing down at the reins in his hands before looking into her eyes from beneath dark, long lashes. “The gods, they have abandoned me long, long ago,” he said without resentment or anger. “Take care that they do not abandon you for daring to bring my name again into their presence. They are done with me.”

"Then I will be done with the gods." She shrugged as if she were talking about giving away a scrap of clothing or a displeasing meal. "Tell me now, Achilles, will you go to your men or see me safely to Troy?"

His eyes narrowed in consternation as he processed her words and calculated their reasons. “To Troy,” he said, simply. Lowering a hand, he silently gave her the option of riding astride with him, or returning to her own mount a few feet away. “One never knows what evil may befall a noble woman alone in times of war.”

She raised her hand to Achilles seeking to take her seat ahead of him on his mount. "Within the walls of Troy I am a noble woman. Here, upon the sand with you, I am simply a woman."

His arms winding around her to firmly grasp the reins, he eased the animal into a slow walk, bending and taking the reins of her horse as they passed so that it would follow docilely. Anger flooded within him at the knowledge that she could be herself with him here alone … in the solitude of this shore. “There is no simplicity about you, Claudia of Troy.” He insisted on using her full name … it kept him wrapped in the reality of who they both were. “Nobility is what you were born and bred for.” He shifted behind her, then, nestling his hips closer to her well rounded posterior in the only sign of advantage he would ever take from a princess of Troy. “Besides, no two people can stay upon the sand forever. Reality must intervene at some point.”

She could not help herself as she felt him snug against her backside. Dropping her smooth warm hand to his thigh, she kneaded the hard flesh their. "You think I could never be something other than a princess? And why can two people not stay upon the sands? Why must they leave the sand to go willingly into the grasp of a reality that is no more a reality than the sands themselves?"

Achilles gritted his teeth, so proudly did the small hand upon his tightly toned thigh affect his senses. “Life is not simplistic … so prettily decorated,” he said in harsh tones that belied the resonating glory he felt in her touch … the Trojan’s touch … his enemy’s touch? As they traveled up a particularly high dune, his arm wrapped around her middle pulling her back flush against the strength of his broad, firm chest. “I am a warrior of Sparta who has slain thousands … perhaps tens of thousands for the word of a misguided king.” He shifted again, this time to keep his obvious arousal from her notice as they leveled on flat sand once again. “You are a daughter of Troy … all that is gentle, philosophical and beautiful in this world.” His voice hardened again as he reveled in her touch. “We are from different worlds.”

"Oh, Achilles." She would not let her effect upon him pass without a gesture to compliment it. She wiggled against the hardness of the warrior behind her, restless and feeling an unfamiliar wetness between her womanly thighs. "It is all so very simple to you is it not? This is that and that is this? Have you never seen a snake shed it's skin to become the grand thing it was meant to be or a winged creature drop it's dull feathers to soar as what it truly longs to be? Life is what you chose it to be and I will believe in that until death claims this body."

Her movement was did not go unnoticed. Even as he took it to be an accident of nature in her mind, his body sprang to life, his manly sword struggling to see the battle for which it was born as surly as the steel at his side made his hands itch in the heat of war. “Nature did not make me to shed skin or drop feathers,” he hissed, frustration seeming as anger when he spoke. “The gods decreed that I be who and what I am. My body made and formed on Olympus itself to be the killing warrior that I am.” He was silent for a moment before continuing harshly. “How can you defy the wishes of the gods you hail so dearly to make me less than I am to suit you wishes?”

His words stung deeply, stung as a wasp in a sharp vibrant burst of pain. It radiated out from her heart and nearly caused her to double before him with the intensity of it. But she willed herself not to show her weakness and instead gave into a very non-noble snort of disgust. "Then, Achilles, be what it is you think you are. I will be what I am meant to be and will soon be sent to wed an ally of Troy and be taken to his bed. I will bare him a child and he will think no more on me. I will be as a ghost to him." The bleak picture she painted of the life she would succumb to make her feel as if she would retch.

Again, he felt her words impact his being as if a fist struck his diaphragm, all the air escaping him for a brief moment. How could the gods, any god, be so cruel as to show him what could be, and then tear it from him so completely? Without realization, his hand moved to her hair, imperceptibly taking a lock and bringing the tresses to his nose, inhaling deeply to remember the scent that was distinctly her. His body softened slightly at the impact of her words … but not completely … for how could it? She was near, and that was all that was needed. “You are princess of Troy, and princess by blood of Ithaca.” He sighed. “Your fate will be glorious. The telling of your story will outlive that of Paris and Helen.” And his legacy would be nothing but that of a warrior … a killer … a beast of burden.

She wanted to scream with the frustration of it all, his words and his glorious body so intimate against her own, scream at her heart for giving its self so quickly and so completely and her body yearning now for his. "I care nothing for stories of greatness, Achilles. If I pass into the sands of time and no one remembers my name at all I would not morn. I care for today, for the happiness to be gained here, for the man that could claim me." Her response was uttered low and sensually, hands splaying out upon both thighs then and caressing every inch of flesh she could contact.

His arm tightened even closer around her, his face lowering enough to allow his mouth near her ear, the warmth of his breath panting into the small canal. “No man can claim you,” he whispered evenly, smoothly, feeling a fire on his flesh as her fingers dug into his skin. “Your spirit would not allow it.”

"Not even the great Achilles?" She questioned boldly, delicate ear branded by his breath, by his words. "Would you not even try?"

Without meaning such boldness, his tongue swirled around the rim of the tender ear. “Why would I want to break such a wild and beautiful spirit?” His heart beat wildly in is chest, this female bringing about emotions inside him that had never before knocked upon the door of his being. “I would as soon throw myself in front of a troop of mounted warriors than kill the part of you that makes me sing.”

"Then sing for me, Achilles," she gasped, turning her flushed face to him over her shoulder, her lips moist and high with color. Her breathing came in small hitching breaths of arousal, came in heated waved of wanting.

Knowing that he would hate himself for the advantage he was taking, he leaned forward and took the soft, feminine lips in a searing kiss, his tongue instantly plunging into hers as he held her awkwardly positioned body safe against his hard form. Giving the horse his head, he held the reins loosely in his fingers as he allowed his hands to move intimately along the lean, lithe sides and softly feminine hips while his mouth memorized every portion of hers.

Her tongue slid to meet his, gliding along the thick wet muscle, exploring his taste and his feel. Below, she arched against him, fitting her feminine backside against that hardened part of him. There came a soft mewling moan from her throat, urging him to ease the heat he had so carelessly created.

Time seemed to slow, but in truth, time was passing far faster than either of them realized … the animals traveling much farther than noted. Parting his lips from hers, he drank in great gulps of air at an attempt to control his primal urges. This was not servant girl being tossed to his bed … no prostitute from the side streets of his home. This was a princess of Troy, and she certainly had no idea what she was starting when she issued so tempting an invitation. As his eyes opened, his heart fell. “Behold, Claudia,” he said huskily. “The walls of Troy.” Indeed, before them stood the very city of his enemies.

Adding the last securing comb to her long blonde hair, the fair beauty looked at her hair, face and form in the brass reflection square on the portable table at which she sat. Content with the coif, she took the dangling earring and smoothly slipped it in the delicate lobe before repeating the gesture woodenly with the other earring. Hearing the tent’s flap rise, she steeled herself for what was to come, burying her emotions far down to that secret place that no one could find, save her.

“It’s time,” barked the burly man as he moved to the woman quickly, grasping her arm in a roughened grip. Pulling her roughly from the seat, her knees disturb the table violently sending the contents to the ground and spilling them across the enclosure. Giving her a cursory glance, he scoffed greatly, snorting in displeasure. “The men are gathered for a glimpse at their guiding charm and this is how you will greet them?” He snorted again as he took in her silky, golden tresses … her vivid green eyes, highlighted with the perfect amount of kohl … the white, diaphanous chiton that hung delicately at her shoulders, ribbons wound tightly to accentuate the full, firm breast in contrast to the slim, feminine torso. She was a beauty, of that there was little doubt … but not good enough. Never quite good enough. Tightening his vice-like grip on the slight upper arm, he tossed her toward the doorway unceremoniously almost causing her topple over. “Stand straight and tall, woman,” he sneered. “Remember, you represent me … King Agamemnon.” And with that, he pushed her to walk before him … taking the wooden steps that created the rise … the rise that showed her to the men who were not only restless, but eager to fight … maim … kill. Taking her place beside the maniacal king, she stood straight … eyes to the horizon … mind focused only on the prayer she sent to the gods … the prayer to take her life from her rather than allow this humiliation to continue another day. As her eyes took in the swords, blades, axes and maces, the idea occurred briefly to her. She could hurl herself from the height of the rise and impale herself on the nearby pike before any could stop her. She was just beginning to move toward the edge … and then they came in the distance … the enemy … the Trojans. Agamemnon’s hand was on her wrist in a moment and her time was gone.

“Men … soldiers … warriors!” He raised his hand dragging hers into the air along side. “See that for which we fight!! Our homes! Our women!” His arm snaked around the woman and he kissed her soundly, bending her back into a large arc before ending the spectacle and stepping forward. “The Trojans have Helen … we have Persephone! For our homes … and for HER … DEATH TO THE TROJANS!”

The roar of agreement echoed around her as she stood in her own world … the world of her imagination.

Hector glared down on the scene from dune above, sand biting into the skin of his hard thighs as he lay flat upon his stomach. He did not like what he was seeing; Agamemnon had replaced Helen in the minds and hearts of the Spartan's. Did they place so little worth on their women that they could be interchanged whenever the mood struck them? He looked carefully at the woman so that he might recognize her if the need arose. She was beautiful, that was quite clear, a woman to stir a man's blood to a fevered pitch. Her face was more beautiful to his mind then Paris' Helen. He slowly crawled back from the edge of the dune and sprinted to his horse. "Persephone." He tested her name on his tongue and found it suited his palate well. "Persephone," he repeated.

“What is it you see,” Sarpedon asked as the Prince of Troy returned to the line. “Can they be taken?” The Trojan ally looked with intensity the way of the enemy, his heart pumping to ride head long into the fray. “Tell me their advantage!”

"They can," was all he would say of the army spread below upon the beach, the woman creating the lust for battle within them. "I must find my sister and then I will speak to my father."

A disappointment inside Sarpedon was obvious, but his loyalty unwavering. “Shall we await your signal before initiating, Hector?”

Hector swung astride one of his lesser stallions, his mind still squarely on the woman he had glimpsed displayed for the Spartan's. "No. Return to the city." He surprised even himself with that order, but he had decided to snare two rabbits in one trap. He kicked the horse along the dune towards the outer edge of the Greek encampment, towards Achilles dwelling.

The warrior in question sat, his own mind on a far different woman … a woman with fiery hair and azure eyes whose kiss had changed his life and created an emotion inside him that he had carefully ignored. Fully aware of the spectacle in the center of the encampment, he ignored the parading of Persephone, feeling certain the king would leave her relatively untouched once he could rejoice with the men … the men and battle being all he really cared about. Popping persimmon slices into his mouth, he chewed absently … until he heard the slight footfalls outside his tent’s entrance. With the speed of a feline, he moved to the side of the doorway, his body poised for attack.

"Achilles," Hector called softly, his hand wrapped securely around the hilt of his sword.

The lightening fast reflexes so second nature to him were exhibited clearly as Achilles’ hand thrust out the fabric door, wrapped around the wrist of the man and pulled him harshly into the abode landing Hector squarely on his back as the golden warrior’s knee hit his chest pinning him to the ground. “Are you mad?” he hissed quietly, his eyes filled with surprise and confusion.

"Perhaps," Hector replied in a rush of breath, his eyes as bright and alert as burning coals. "I have come to ask you if you have seen...." He hesitated, hating that he had to ask this man for his aid, but if his sister had stumbled into the midst of the Spartan's, she could be in deepening danger. "Have you come upon one who is wearing my armor and sits upon the back of my stallion?"

The threat of danger over, Achilles eased from Hector’s chest, sitting comfortably on the ground, the blade still in his grasp. “Have you lost one of your own, Hector?” the man chided amusedly. “Can you not keep place of your own armor … steed?” A hint of mockery floated through the air. “I see you do at least have your sword by your side.”

"Only to one who is close to me, Achilles, and know this … the punishment will be swift and sever for such theft." Hector arranged himself into a sitting position in front of Achilles, facing him.

With a chuckle, Achilles returned to his seat, lounging in a relaxed manner as he grasped a whole persimmon, tossing it to the man across from him. “If my thoughts are correct about you, Hector … you will act with compassion and mercy, thus allowing the thief clemency.” He took a piece of the fleshy fruit and ate comfortably. “True?” Achilles found himself truly interested concerning how the Trojan prince would handle such.

"You are wrong, Achilles. You do no know of this thief. I have given my compassion and clemency far too long. It is time a lesson is taught and learned," he refuted, biting into the sweet blood fruit. "Have you set eyes on my thief?"

The comfortable conversation was halted momentarily as the distinctly feminine cry was heard from a short distance away, followed by a gruff, male voice speaking indistinctly, and then the continued murmuring of soldiers in the encampment. Achilles sighed and broke the silence in the tent. “I have set eyes upon your robber.”

Hector could not seem to fathom what Achilles had said, instead his head rang with the cry. "What woman is this that has come to be in your camp?"

The warrior shrugged, his eyes hardening at the thought of the king’s cruelty. “Agamemnon searched the home of all the noble’s of the land. He found that whom he considered woman who most embodied the women of Greece.” He sighed. “He saw Persephone and instantly claimed her as the guardian of Sparta … and he parades her at the dawn of each day and before the men retire each night.” His voice hardened. “She’s meant to inspire … both the men, AND him.”

Hector grunted in disgust as he bit into the fruit again, a thin red line of juice trailing down into the growth upon his chin. “What of the thief, Achilles?"

The thought of the poor woman four tents to the north was a source of great consternation for Achilles, but he kept his mind on the matter at hand. “The last seen, your armor was seen riding toward Troy from the seashore two miles or more from the encampment.” He finished the persimmon. “I assume by now your armor is resting peacefully in your dwelling … your stallion in your livery … your thief hiding from your wrath.”

Hector nodded in understanding and stood, the half eaten food dangling in carelessly in his hand. "Till the morrow, Achilles." Hector bid him farewell and turned to leave the tent.

“Hector …” Achilles stood then, moving toward the man before him … feeling something in the vein of compassion for the man who should be his enemy. “Fight well tomorrow.” He smiled. “Do not pass my path. It would distress me to kill you.”

"Do for me the same, brother." He turned and clasped Achilles on the shoulder, feeling an acute kinship with the man, with the warrior, and his life.

Achilles watched the man leave, standing at the doorway … his eyes closing as he heard the soft cry of the woman again, and then the silence afterward. Turning, he moved back into his tent and settled for the evening … his mind again on sunset hair and sea blue eyes.