Will More Strongly

Will More Strongly


Chapter XIV


There was an eerie silence when Paris awoke that morning. It was not that there was no noise, only that the usual ruckus created by an encamped army was muted. Achilles continued to sleep soundly next to him, even as Paris extracted himself from his lover's arms, and, winding a blanket about his mid-section, made his way towards the tent flap. He blinked several times as his pupils were assaulted by the brilliant morning light and before realizing that no one was about. Paris stepped out further, wandering about the near empty camp, but always within immediate view of Achilles' tent. He knew that it would be been better to stay inside the tent, however, he had never been good at saying within enclosed places for extended periods. It was the shepherd in him, he assumed.

He heard a horse galloping up and darted behind a nearby tent until it and its rider had passed. When he came out again, all was silent save for a few slaves wandering about, cleaning, tending to the cook fires and performing general maintenance that kept a camp of that size functioning.

Paris deftly avoided all of the slaves as he made his way towards the shore. It was choked with ships, but there were still gaps enough for him to sneak through to the surf which was cool against his bare feet. Leaning against the hull of the nearest boat, Paris stared out at the horizon, once again attempting to wrap his mind around the fact that he was the cause of such a massive war. That his stupidity was the cause of it all. He had been gullible enough to fall for Helen's ploys and now the lives of everyone he cared about were in jeopardy.

Hands gripped his shoulders, spinning him around, and Paris let out a startled yelp, automatically bringing his arms up to defend himself.

"Be calm, Alexandros," Achilles murmured as he crushed the younger man to his chest. "It is only me. Though I should do something drastic for frightening me as you did."

"I am sorry, but I simply could not remain in that tent any longer without losing my mind," Paris said quietly, shifting his body back just enoso tso that he was able to see Achilles' face. "I do not do well with confinement, no matter how well meaning it is."

"You do realize you are in mortal danger?" Achilles pressed, leaning forward so that he could touch his forehead to Paris'. "Agamemnon would hurt you in ways that I do not even wish to imagine and you are wandering about in naught but a thin blanket with no weapons to defend yourself with."

Paris squeezed his eyes shut tight and leaned further into Achilles' chest. "I admit it, I was not thinking, beloved. I simply needed to clear my head, to wrap my mind around all that has been happening around me. Because of me.... I started a war when all I meant to do was keep you safe from Agamemnon."

The water was lapping against their calves and the slurping sounds ade ade against the hulls of the ships echoed in the narrow space where they stood. For a long while Achilles said nothing, merely raised his hands to frame Paris' cheeks, holding their faces so close that they were breathing the same air.

"I know that I will not be able to convince you otherwise, but this war is not your doing," Achilles said quietly.

"Helen and Agamemnon are the ones behind it, yes," Paris sighed, nodding his head. "What you forget is that I was their dupe. d evd everything they meant for me to do, reacted how they meant for me to.... I was a fool and now others are forced to pay the price."

~*~*~

Having trained many long hours with his cousin, Patroclus knew how he was meant to fight. He knew exactly what to do in order to fool others into believing that he was the great Achilles. While his prowess might not equal that of his cousin, Patroclus could fight well and received only the barest of scratches in return.

Until he found himself standing face to face with Prince Hector of Troy.

~*~*~

Achilles felt contrite for having taken his anger out on Alexandros when it was meant to be directed at others. As he had been searching the camp for Alexandros he had seen that not one of his Myrmidons remained in camp. Not even Patroclus. They were fighting a war he had ordered them to share no part of. Agamemnon had brought it all upon himself and deserved to suffer whatever consequences the gods saw fit to levy upon him.

"Come back to the tent," Achilles murmured against the side of Alexandros' head. "You will be safer there, beloved."

Alexandros shook his head, sliding out of Achilles' arms and backing further into the surf. "Not yet. I have been indoors long enough and wish only for the chance to languish in the sea. There is no one about and only the gods know when we will be presented with another such situation."

As he opened his mouth to protest, Alexandros unknotted the cloth around his waist and tossed it to Achilles. Alexandros winced as salt water seeped into the wound on his thigh. He then pursed his lips and disappeared beneath the surface entirely. Looping the blanket over a rope, Achilles shed his own sarong and draped it alongside Alexandros' and waded out towards where the younger man had disappeared.

There was still no sign of Alexandros when he reached the spot which sent a brief fissure of worry through Achilles. In the next moment, however, he felt something latch onto his legs and he was toppled into the water.

The first thing he heahen hen he breached the surface was Alexandros' exuberant laughter. Achilles shoved his now drenched hair away from his face and turned around until he was face to face with his still giggling lover.

"That was not very kind," Achilles chastised as he crossed the slight distance that separated him from Alexandros.

"No, but it was quite amusing," Alexandros countered as he allowed himself to be drawn into Achilles' arms.

Had the situation been any different, Achilles would have readily allowed Alexandros to draw him into his play and enjoyed it immensely. Alexandros was always such a joy and even though grown when they had first met, had maintained such an innocent view of the world that it had intrigued the world weary Achilles. In short order he had come to crave it and had been ready to take Alexandros with him when he returned to Mount Ida that final time so that he would not have to be without him any longer.

What now worried Achilles most was how he would keep his beloved safe until they were able to leave Troy. Whether Alexandros wanted it or not, Achilles was taking him far from Troy as soon as their way was clear. He wanted his lover free from Agamemnon's madness and was not certain that Alexandros could be even within the city's mighty walls.

"We should return to the camp," Achilles called softly as he swam over to where Alexandros was floating. "This battle could end at any time and I would rather you were safely concealed by then."

In that moment he watched Alexandros deflate and hated himself for being the cause of it. The boy righted himself, bobbing about in the waves with his face tilted down. While Achilles berated himself internally, Alexandros began to wade back towards the beach.

~*~*~

Helen did not know why she was torturing herself so. Standing in the shadow of one of the ships, she watched as Paris and Achilles frolicked in the waves, seemingly unaware of where they were. It was a blow to her pride that she had been unable to coax such smiles and such laughter from Paris despite all of her blatant attempts to seduce him. She had prided herself on being able to weave a spell on any man she chose. Paris, however, had proved to be immune despite his willing compliance with her plotting.

For that she felt no qualms whatsoever in giving up the Trojan prince to Agamemnon who she had correctly assumed would then use the youth against Achilles. Under normal circumstances she would not care what Agamemnon did with her reluctant lover, but Achilles had been the lone member of the Greek nobility who had not sought her hand. He would therefore suffer her wrath and lose the one thing he coveted.

With nothing else to do while the men were off fighting their war, Helen returned to the bedchamber in the interior of the massive tent complex to prepare herself for Agamemnon's return.

"I would like a bath prepared," Helen said to the young serving girl who was straightening the room. "And make sure to add oils to the water."

While the servant girl went off to prepare the bathwater, Helen sat down before the bronze mirror as she took down her hair, running a shell comb through it to ensure that she had removed all the pins from her blonde locks. Now that she had given Agamemnon his war, the only thing she had left to hold him to her with was to appeal to his sexual appetite. It was unlikely his wife would welcome him to her bed as he had sacrificed their youngest child so that the gods would grant his fleet the winds necessary to sail to Troy. To be the mistress of the powerful High King of Greece far exceeded merely being the wife of his younger brother.

Before long the marble tub was filled with warm scented water and Helen dismissed the serving girl before slipping into her bath. Helen meant to bind Agamemnon to her and make him forget about Paris entirely. She also meant to keep Paris' true identity secret until it better served her purposes. At the moment there was no need for Agamemnon to know just what was lying in wait in Achilles' tent.

~*~*~

Paris did not know why Achilles' words had effect him so. In the back of his mind he had been fully aware that he and Achilles were in the midst of a war, but for a few brief moments he had allowed himself to forget that. He had convinced himself that he and his beloved were back at Mount Ida, savouring the few stolen moments before Achilles' duties called him away yet again. It was a foolish dream and he knew that it was unlikely he and Achilles would ever again enjoy such carefree days.

A pair of strong arms wound around his middle and Paris found himself pressed against Achilles' chest. "I did not mean to upset you, 'Xandros. Forgive me?"

"There is nothing to forgive," Paris sighed, leaning into Achilles' chest. "I am being a child, feel free to ignore me. It is only for a moment I believed myself to be home once again."

"That is a good dream," Achilles murmured then pressed a kiss to his shoulder. "Very soon it will be a reality. As soon as my errant soldiers return and clear the way for our departure we will go to Mount Ida. That is a promise."

Paris shook his head, remaining where he was as the water lapped around their thighs. "I will not leave my family to suffer for my mistakes."

"'Xandros...."

"You cannot ask me to abandon my family,” Paris insisted, spinning about so quickly that he nearly upended Achilles. "You would not abandon Patroclus nor would I ask you to."

Achilles sighed heavily, nodding his head. "It is only my intention to keep you safe."

"And for that I love you all the more," Paris assured him, lifting his hands to frame Achilles' face. "Only I beg of you, no more. I will remain on these shores until Agamemnon departs."

"I swear it," Achilles sighed, squeezing his eyes shut tight. "But as soon as this is over I am taking you far from here to somewhere I know you will be safe."

"So long as you stay with me, I shall go."

~*~*~

"You are a fool," Eudorus raged as he half dragged, half carried his charge through the camp. "If you did not have the luck of the gods themselves you would be dead."

"I am not a child," Patroclus hissed, clutching tightly to the deep slash on his right arm. "You and my cousin seem to forget that I am a man. I can fight and I can fend for myself."

The well seasoned warrior rolled his eyes as he continued to tug Patroclus to their section of the beach. "Child or no, what you did would be considered treason were you any other man. My lord Achilles gave orders that we were not to follow any man save him into battle. Not only that, this morning we were meant to be guarding the prince. Should anything have befallen him while we were chasing after you...."

Patroclus wrenched himself away from Eudorus, spinning around to glare at the older man. "I do not care what happens to the little princeling. He has done nothing but cause Achilles grief in all the time they have known one another. It would be better for him if Alexandros or Paris or whatever name he has chosen for himself this day is dead. Achilles would suffer a small hurt but in the end it would be better for him."

Gripping the youth's upper arms tightly, Eudorus spun him around to ensure that he had the blonde's full attention. "Then you are even more of a fool than I thought. If you continue on this path, I can assure you, Pclusclus, you will find yourself facing your cousin's wrath. And no one will raise a hand to aid you."

"You have made your point," Patroclus ground out, his eyes flashing dangerously.

Compared to Achilles when enraged, however, it was little more than a kindled fire.

~*~*~

The moment his cousin appeared dressed in his armour, Achilles descended upon him. The army was beginning to return in bulk so he had ordered Alexandros into the tent while he ventured to a nearby cook fire in search of food when Eudorus appeared, dragging Patroclus behind him.

"Who, in the name of all the gods, do you think you are?" Achilles growled, winding his right hand around his cousin's throat. "I am the one in command here. Me. I am the one who decides whether or not my men enter a battle. Me, Patroclus, not you. So I ask you again, my dear cousin, who do you think you are?"

Patroclus was huffing angrily, his pale eyes fixated on Achilles. "I am the one who is saving your good name. I am the one keeping the Trojans from calling you a coward. I am the one who is man enough to fight while you coddle your little shep--"

His words were cut off as Achilles tightened his grip on the youth's throat. "If I were you, I would choose your words wisely, cousin, for they may well be the last ones you utter for some time."

"I only did what I thought was right, cousin," Patroclus gasped, struggling to draw breath into his lungs. "I apologize for my mistake and beg your forgiveness."

Shifting his hold to the back collar of the armour, Achilles began to drag him towards his tent. "It is not my forgiveness you require. Ask it of Alexandros. When he grants it to you so will I and not before."

The commotion had obviously been greater than Achilles had thought it was for when he turned back to the tent, his beloved was hovering at the entrance.

"I bare you no ill will, Patroclus," Alexandros said evenly, standing tall before his aggressor. "I can understand your desire to protect Achilles, but know that he will r ner need it from me. I could never knowingly do anything that would harm him. On that you have my word."

"Your word?" Patroclus echoed. "What is the word of a Trojan prince in the midst of an army of Greeks?"

"The same as the word of a shepherd was on the hills surrounding Mount Ida."

Achilles felt a swell of pride at Alexandros' words. There was a strength in his beloved that until the day before he had only glimpsed at. The unfortunate trade-off was that the carefree innocence he had grown to love was fading in equal measure.

"You have your forgiveness, Patroclus," Achilles hissed as he shoved his cousin away from him. "Do not squander it."

~*~*~

Hector stalked the length of his bedchamber in a rage. He was still covered with blood and sweat and grime from the morning's battle, his armour cast aside almost immediately. There was a wild look in his eyes, one that not even the sight of his infant son's bassinet could quell.

"My love?" Andromache called from the doorway where she was hovering nervously.

"It would be best if you were not here right now," Hector murmured, stabbing his fingers through his rumpled hair.

"Hector, what is wrong?" his wife pressed, taking a few hesitant steps into the room.

The warrior took several deep, calming breaths and met her gaze for a brief moment. "Achilles lied and now I fear Paris' life is in grave danger. I will not trust my brother's life to that godless Greek for another day. It ends tomorrow."