Will More Strongly

Will More Strongly


Chapter XI


Paris was the first to wake. He hovered for a little while on the edge of consciousness, feeling as though he were in a dream. A wonderful, glorious dream that he had been longing for since the last night he had slept secure in Achilles' arms. Slowly blinking his eyes open, Paris found himself staring into the sleeping face of his beloved. All of the hard lines seemed faded from his face as he slept, taking all of his cares with them.

Tentatively raising a hand, Paris touched his palm to Achilles' cheek. A smile lit his face as the blonde moved his face into his touch. He knew that he and Achilles did not have much time together. Hector would not long allow him to remain with his love. His elder brother's protective nature would take over and he would attempt to see him safely back within the city walls.

Paris would not go without a fight, though. He would remain with Achilles unless forcibly removed from his side.

"It feels positively decadent to be sleeping in the middle of the day," Achilles moaned, turning his head to press a kiss to Paris' palm which was still resting on his cheek.

"The decadence is what came before," Paris grinned, stretching luxuriously against Achilles' side. "This is a much deserved respite."

Achilles released a deep, rumbling laugh and pulled the young prince closer to him. "This is most assuredly the last place I had ever expected us to meet. I went to Mount Ida intent on taking you with me back to Larissa as you had asked on our last parting only to find you gone and no one with any idea where you had gone."

"I blame you for what occurred to make me into a Prince of Troy," Paris said, the smile not wavering from his features if becoming more somber. "Had you not taught me to fight, I never would have had the courage to come to Troy in order to win back the bull that had been stolen from my family." He snorted with amusement and rolled onto his back. "I was a naive fool. I came intent on winning the games my father was holding and taking the bull home as a prize. I received a right good beating and yet I somehow managed to be the victor in all of my contests."

"Which I have no doubt about," Achilles murmured against his temple. "For all of your self doubt you are an excellent fighter."

~*~*~

"I have fed my youngest to the wolves," Priam lamented as he slumped in his throne. "The poor boy will be torn to pieces by the Greeks."

Pursing his lips, Hector stepped away from the wall and crossed over to where his father sat. "Achilles will protect him as best as he is able. Despite his other alliances he does seem to genuinely care for Paris. I saw the panic in his eyes when Paris was in danger of collapse at the city walls. It was not for show, Father, but his own concern for Paris."

"And what will happen when Paris no longer has that protection?" the aging king demanded of his eldest. "If he does the slightest thing to anger Achilles he could very well end up dead."

"You forget, Father, that Paris bested me in battle. Despite what his battle with Menelaus showed this morning, Paris is more than capable of defending himself in battle," Hector reminded his father. And though his father appeared quite grim about the situation, Hector could not halt the smile that tugged at the corners of his lips. "Paris was taught to fight by the best when he was a mere shepherd and so long as he desires it enough he will not allow himself to fail. He won the bull when none thought that he could, he will survive as Achilles' consort just the same."

"And this morning's battle?"

~*~*~

"I believed that I had lost you again," Alexandros sighed, turning his face into Achilles' shoulder. "There was no sign of your men on the field and there was a rumour from our spies that you were preparing to leave. I thought that... I thought you had discovered that I was the prince who had seduced Helen from her husband and were utterly disgusted with me. Not that I can blame you for I am horrified by my own actions. So it was no far stretch for me to believe that you were leaving because you had found out who I was and meant to abandon me here."

Achilles tightened his hold on his young lover, pressing his cheek against the rumpled cu "I "I would never have done that. Not without first hearing from your own lips that Helen had won your affection in my absence."

"That could never happen," Alexandros murmured lazily, but with much conviction. "No one else could hold my heart as you do. It is impossible."

"Do not make promises you cannot keep," the older man said realistically.

Hoisting himself up on his elbows, Alexandros peered down at his face, a hard look in his ever expressive dark eyes. "Until the day they burn my body, I will love you. You and no other."

A smile found its way to Achilles' face, his mind going back to that night so many months before. "It would seem as though it is you who is now the poet, my dear shepherd."

A quick laugh escaped Alexandros' lips at that, indicating that he too remembered his words from nearly a year before. "Hardly, my love. I am merely a boy with far more romantic notions than is prudent."

"I am quite fond of those romantic notions," Achilles was quick to assure him, not wanting his lover to bury any of the traits he so adored. "Do not rush to rid yourself of them."

Alexandros merely nodded and lowered his head back to Achilles' chest, the fingers of his left hand tracing idle patterns along the warrior's side. "I said those same words to Helen. To convince her to leave Sparta with me. The words meant nothing to me then for I would have rather burned than given her my heart. I want you to know that. So that you will not think me false if something goes amiss."

~*~*~

Helen reached the Greek encampment far earlier than she had expected to. To her it seemed as though she had simply rounded a corner of the beach and it was there, complete with all the noise and quite pungent odour an army camp produced. The sun was dipping down towards the horizon, dusk only a few hours away. By the time the first of the torches were lit, Helen hoped to be aligned with the one man whose power she respected.

The arrow that imbedded in the sand a few paces in front of her brought a startled cry from Helen's lips.

"Draw back your hood and reveal yourself!" the soldier who had fired at her called.

With trembling fingers, Helen drew the heavy hood away from her face, allowing it to drop back into her shoulders. "I am Helen. Widow of King Menelaus of Sparta and mistress of Prince Paris of Troy. I seek a meeting with King Agamemnon of Mycenae. I have information he would be most interested in hearing."

~*~*~

"Nothing will go amiss now," Achilles murmured against the unruly curls that lay against his chest. "I hyou you with me and when the morning tide comes we will sail with it far from Troy."

It was not the first time Achilles had said those words to him since their arrival at the Greek camp, but for the first time the import of those words registered in his mind. He knew what the words meant outside of Achilles' promise to keep him safe. Wonderful as the words sounded to his ears, in reality they struck a cord of horror through him.

"I cannot go with you," Paris said, pulling himself away from Achilles and sitting with his knees drawn to his chest. He kept his face turned away from the fair-haired man, knowing that he would not be able to maintain his position otherwise. "I am the cause of all this. I am the reason my family is in jeopardy and I will not leave them to suffer because of it. I will stay even if it should mean my death."

Before he had even finished speaking Achilles' arms wound themselves about his shoulders and he was pulled back to rest against a strong chest. "I will not leave you here, 'Xandros. You would have to kill me to stop me from taking you to a location where I know you will be safe and you know quite well that I am difficult to kill."

"Yes, I recall some grandiose tale of your mother dipping you into the river Styx," Paris chuckled as he leaned into Achilles' embrace.

"I assure you, it is true," Achilles insisted, smile evident in his voice. "So it will take an act of the gods themselves to separate me from you, Alexandros."

Hearing himself being called by his old name, Paris felt a frown form on his face. He did not feel the least bit like the boy Achilles had fallen in love with. The shepherd was no more regardless of what Achilles might want to believe.

"Whatever foul thoughts are filling your mind are not true," the warrior whispered in his ear, squeezing him tight.

Paris shook his head, his frown growing more evident. "Unfortunately they are. I am no longer the boy you knew before. I am not Alexandros. I have more responsibilities than I would have ever thought possible the last time we met."

"You are not that boy, but that does not mean I love you any less," Achilles assured him, using his fingertips to tilt the brunette's face around to meet his gaze.

Though he did not resist Achilles' attempt to turn his face, he was reluctant to meet his lover's gaze. "I cannot leave when my family is in danger. I am the cause of this war so I must see this through till its end. I would live forever with the regret if I abandoned them to Agamemnon's fury."

Achilles squeezed his eyes shut tight, sucking in a deep breath through his flared nostrils. "You are far too noble, beloved."

Leaning up, Paris brushed his lips against the bridge of Achilles' nose. He did not pull away, instead remaining close to his lover, inhaling the same air. Paris wanted to remain as close to Achilles as possible, not knowing just how much time they would be granted.

"Come," Achilles said as he suddenly pulled himself away from Paris. "We should find ourselves something substantial to eat to replenish ourselves from our earlier activities."

Having been too nervous to eat anything that morning, Paris was definitely ready to eat. So when Achilles rose to his feet, Paris allowed himself to be lifted up as well, stumbling only slightly. He was fine immediately afterwards, but Achilles had seen him falter and insisted immediately that Paris remain in the tent while he procured food for them. Paris had initially balked, feeling perfectly all right, but was overruled by his lover who insisted that he would much rather return to find him sprawled naked and waiting for him.

"So I am to be your kept boy, is it?" Paris inquired as he lowered himself back to the cushions that formed their bed. He could not keep the frown from his face as Achilles covered himself with a dark blue sarong.

The blonde warrior gave him a pointed look, softened by the smile tugging at the corners of his lips, then slipped out the slitted entrance of the tent. The last Paris saw of him was his powerful calf and sturdy ankle before he allowed his head to drop back onto the cushion supporting his shoulders. Paris pinched at the bridge of his nose and remained reclined for a few moments longer before he heaved himself first into a seated position then to his feet. He wavered slightly as he sought the right amount of pressure to place on his injured leg.

Moving over to the water carafe on the opposite side of the tent, Paris was startled by the sound of tearing fabric. The young prince whirled around, very nearly unsettling his balance, and came face to face with a pair of Greek soldiers entering through a hole they had slashed into the side of the tent.

With only an ewer of water to defend himself, Paris squared his shoulders, refusing to show any sense of fear even though he felt as though it were about to drown him. Near to him was a dagger which he lunged for after hastily throwing the ewer in the direction of the soldiers who had invaded the tent.

~*~*~

As he stalked towards the fire pit where his men were enjoying the food prepared by the slave boys, Achilles kept an eye out for his young cousin. He meant to have words with Patrolcus as to why he had left Alexandros unguarded when he had asked the younger man to watch over his beloved. It was not like Patrolcus to leave defenseless a man who was injured.

There was no sign of Patrolcus there, forcing Achilles to search the encampment for his kinsman who was proving to be most elusive. In the end, he found the boy sitting among a small crowd near to their ship, listening as Eudorus no doubt spun some elaborate tale that possessed very few true facts.

"Patrolcus!" Achilles shouted, gaining his cousin's attention immediately.

The teen appeared to sense his mood for all sign of merriment fled his features.

"Why did you leave Alexandros unprotected when I asked you to stay with him?" Achilles demanded as soon as the youth was standing before him.

Instead of shying away, Patrolcus stood his ground, his expression hardening. "I do not trust him, cousin. He is the cause of this war and for all that you love him he did not see fit to inform you that he was a prince of Troy."

"Alexandros did not tell me because at the time he did not know of his heritage," Achilles defended his lover. "To his knowledge he was Alexandros of Mount Ida. What reason did he have to consider himself to be a prince? Such a thing is beyond a shepherd."

"You cannot be so easily pulled in by his lies," Patrolcus lamented.

"I will not argue with you, Patrolcus," Achilles sighed, closing his eyes momentarily. "If you will not see the truth I cannot force it upon you. Know this, though. I love Alexandros beyond all others whatever his name may be. And I will allow no one to harm him, not even those others I hold dear."

"I simply do not want to see you hurt, cousin."

Reaching over, Achilles clapped a hand onto the youth's shoulder. "You need not fear for me. I have found Alexandros so all will be well."

Patrolcus' response was silenced as a young serving boy appeared suddenly at his side. "My lord, King Agamemnon would see you immediately. He says that it is most urgent."

"And what is to be Agamemnon's punishment if I refuse?" Achilles sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"None, my lord," the boy said, his eyes wide as he stared up at Achilles' in wonderment. "He said only that he wished to discuss the Trojan prince with you."

Achilles inhaled a sudden breath, consumed with the instant fear that Agamemnon had learned somehow of Alexandros' presence in the camp. He was torn with the knowledge that his beloved could already be in the High King's clutches and was unsure if he should return to his tent or go immediately to Agamemnon.

Sensing his dilemma, Patrolcus placed a hand upon his arm. "I will go to your tent, cousin. The High King awaits."

Grateful, but unable to say so in front of the boy, Achilles merely nodded his head before heading at a brisk past towards Agamemnon's quarters. He berated himself for leaving Alexandros so vulnerable, wishing instead that he had heeded his beloved and allowed the younger man to accompany him on his search for their meal. His Myrmidons had been all about the fire pit and Alexandros would have been safely protected not only by his sword, but by the men under his command.

The smug expression on Agamemnon's face as he burst into the main audience room of his tent complex did not help to alleviate Achilles' fears.

"So the great Achilles has deemed it worthy to appear in my presence," Agamemnon drawled as he raised a goblet of wine to his lips. Passing it to a nearby servant, he rose swiftly to his feet, his eyes darkening. "You do recall, Achilles, why it is that we are here?"

"I was under the impression that it was to take back Helen, though I have long wondered if that was actually the case," Achilles said with a false sense of bravado that startled even him.

The darker man sneered momentarily before his lips tilted upwards in a rather frightening grin. "We are here to avenge my brother's honour. The brat prince Paris stole his wife and I would have seen her returned to him had Hector not killed him this morning. Now I must avenge Menelaus' honour by razing Troy to the ground.... However, that does not exclude Paris from my wrath."

To Achilles' ultimate horror, not only did Helen appear from behind Agamemnon's makeshift throne, but from behind a curtained partition several men emerged dragging a naked and bound Alexandros who was fighting with every bit of determination Achilles had seen in him that morning on the battlefield.