Will More Strongly

"Paris...."

The young man in question continued to stare over the bow of the ship, not responding to the call. Rather, his attention was focused on the city of Sparta which became closer with each passing moment. The city of King Menelaus, brother of the great Agamemnon, and longtime enemy of the king of Troy.

"Paris.... Paris! Brother, where is your head?"

A hand on his shoulder caused him to start and he whirled around to face the man he was still learning to refer to as his brother. "My apologies, Hector. At times I forget that I must answer to that name now. It is all still new to me."

"Soon it will be second nature," Hector assured him, squeezing his brother's bicep. "You will become accustomed to the life you were meant to lead."

While Paris nodded his head in agreement to his brother's words, he could not as easily dismiss his life as the shepherd Alexandros. It had only been a few months since he had discovered his true heritage as a prince of Troy. In that time he had been ripped away from everything he knew and been expected to adapt to a life that was so far beyond his grandest dreams. Before he had been revealed as Priam's second son, his dreams of the future had not extended beyond wishful fancies of being able to spend more than a few stolen hours with his beloved Achilles. He had been ready to beg the warrior to take him from the life that he knew and allow him to stay by his side always.

The fates had intervened, as was their wont, and snatched him from that path in the same moment his prized bull had been taken from him.

Still not fully situated in his new life, Paris had been sent with his elder brother as an emissary to flesh out a peace agreement between Troy and Sparta. Their trip was to bring about an end to a war that had not touched his life, but was now expected to be one of his top priorities. Paris did not quite understand the logic of that, but didhis his father decreed, not wanting to disappoint the aging king.

"How long must we remain in Sparta?" Paris asked as they neared the large harbour the city overlooked.

Hector pursed his lips, scratching at his right temple with the opposite hand. "A fortnight at the most. Less if at all possible. Like you I would much rather return home."

"To your wife and son," Paris said, knowing instinctively the path his brother's thoughts travelled.

"Before long you too will know the joys of a family of your own," Hector tried to assure him.

The words fell on deaf ears, though. Paris had no desire for a family such as his brother had. Once the peace talks were completed and they returned successfully to their father, Paris had plans to travel to Achilles' home. He meant to search out his love who likely had no idea of the transformation his life had undertaken in the past few months. It had already been nearly a year since they had last met.

"I bid you welcome to my lands," King Menelaus of Sparta said as he greeted the two young princes at the harbour. "It is a rarity that the sons of Troy venture to this part of the world in peace."

"King Menelaus," Hector greeted, bowing his head respectfully to the monarch. He then gestured to Paris who stood on his left. "This is my brother, Paris, who has newly been returned to us."

"Ahh yes, the missing princeling," Menelaus nodded, smirking in Paris' direction. "I am pleased to meet the boy old King Priam deems worthy to bestow the title of son upon."

Paris said nothing, simply bowed his head in deference to the aging king. He knew his words wouldn't matter to the king. Already he was being ignored in favour of Hector, something which Paris happened quite regularly. For the most part, Paris still felt as though he were an interloper in the royal family of Troy. At heart he was still the humble shepherd who had stood awed in a chariot as it was driven through the streets of Troy with thousands of people shouting for his attention and likely would be for the rest of his life.

"Come, there is a feast waiting for us at the palace," Menelaus invited as he stepped behind the young princes and placed a hand on their shoulders, guiding them away from the harbour. "And I will then introduce you to my lovely wife Helen."

For the next several days, Paris merely went through the motions of the visiting prince. He answered any questions directed at him to the best of his ability, but generally left the speaking to Hector. Paris himself would have been more content to simply fade into the background.

That desire grew when he became aware of the longing looks being sent his way by Menelaus' young queen. Helen was beautiful, true enough, but he did not feel any of the passion that he could see reflected in her eyes. If anything, Paris felt sorry for her. She was a young, beautiful woman and was married to a haggard old man who treated her as a trophy that should be looked at but never touched. His touches were reserved for the many serving girls that filled the dining hall nightly.

Helen was not the only one to look at him so. Since he had been revealed as Priam's son it seemed to Paris as though every unwed woman in the palace was parading before him, seeking to make an impression on him and raise herself to the status of a princess of Troy. Paris cared nothing for any of them. He barely even spared any of them a passing glance. His concern then, as it still was, was simply to return to Achilles' side.

"You seem out of sorts, brother," Hector commented as he joined his brother in one of the alcoves at the side of the room. "What ails you?"

Paris downed the remainder of the wine in his goblet, screwing up his features as it burned its way down. "Nothing, Hector. I am merely overwhelmed by the press of people. I think I will retire to the gardens for a time."

"You cannot escape your destiny," Hector said to him, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. "You are a prince of Troy and with that comes certain responsibilities. Such as enduring tedious nights listening to the war stories of old men who have not seen a battle field since before either of us were born."

"And I will do what is expected of me," Paris was quick to assure him. "Only allow me to do it in my own time. You were raised for this. You are accustomed to this privilege. I am not. I am a simple shepherd who has been dressed up in fine clothes and expected to play the role of the prince. It is not who I am, Hector. Not yet, in any case."

Hector smiled broadly, the lines around his eyes crinkling as he did so. "You are far more noble than you give yourself credit for, brother. Royalty is in your blood, Paris, and soon you will believe it as well."

Paris opened his mouth to protest his elder brother's overly kind words, but was silenced by a stern look from Hector. The younger prince sighed and nodded his head.

"Everything will turn out as it is meant to," Hector assured him, holding Paris' face between his palms. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his forehead. "For now simply sit back and take it all in since this is all still new to you. I will handle the negotiations."

"Thank you," Paris murmured as he raised his hands to squeeze his brother's forearms. "But I still need to spend some time on my own."

Hector nodded his head and took a step away from his younger brother. "Do not linger too long. I will feel better knowing exactly where you are."

Paris watched his brother walk back into the crowded hall then passed his goblet off to a passing servant before making his retreat to the gardens. Since boarding the ship in Troy, Paris could not think of a single moment he had been alone save for when he slept. First sailors, now servants and other nobles always seemed to be lingering nearby.

Even now, the curly-haired prince could hear voices murmuring from the far side of the garden. Paris was about to leave the garden in favour of his rooms in the palace when he heard mention of Achilles.

Padding silently towards the two figures he could barely make out standing behind a large tree in the center of the garden. The closer he got, the more distinctive their voices became and Paris was able to recognize the first as King Menelaus himself while the second was a steward of the king's that Paris could not remember the name of.

"Achilles is a nuisance and a threat to all of Greece," Menelaus growled as he paced about, gesticulating sharply with his hands. "He cannot be controlled and must be eliminated before my brother begins his next campaign."

"And what would you have us do about it, my lord?" the steward questioned, staring helplessly at the raging king. "You have said it yourself, Achilles cannot be controlled. He is nearly invincible in battle. How then are we to kill him?"

Menelaus was silent for a moment, his stalling his pacing momentarily. As Paris crept still closer, desperate to discover what the king of Sparta had planned for his lover. If he could find out then he could get word to Achilles. He would race to Achilles' side himself and defend his love with his bow, a weapon he wielded far better than a sword despite Achilles' lessons.

"There is a boy," Menelaus said suddenly, whirling around to face the other man. "A lover that Achilles reportedly visits with some regularly. He crosses the sea time and time again to be with this man. If we can track down this lover then Achilles will come to us willingly. His Myrmidons are but a small number that can be easily defeated without their leader."

"But where is this boy?"

Menelaus stopped in front of his steward and laid a hand on his shoulder. "That task I leave to you, my good man. Find the boy and bring him to me."

Paris darted quickly out of the garden, his footsteps not making a single sound. He needed to get out of Sparta before King Menelaus discovered that he was Achilles' lover. Under no circumstances would Paris allow himself to be used as bait to trap his beloved. He would take his own life rather than place the man he loved beyond all others in danger.

As Paris burst back into the hall, he crashed into a body and staggered forward, nearly stumbling to the ground in his haste. He was caught up by strong hands and pulled upright. Paris mumbled a quick thanks but was already moving forward again, his eyes blind to what lay before him, intent only on his destination. The young prince would rid himself of the ornate clothes of his station and dress once again in the simple tunic and cloak of a shepherd so as to easily evade notice as he fled into the countryside.

In the upper corridors of the palace, some of Paris' initial panic had faded and he was able to stop himself when a hooded figure appeared suddenly in front of him, exiting one of the rooms.

"Prince Paris!" the figure gasped.

Tilting his head, Paris peered into the hood, trying to discern the face that lay hidden behind it. "Queen Helen. Whatever are you doing wandering about so hidden?"

"I could ask the same of you, young prince," Helen of Sparta countered, holding herself up to her full height. "You steal about like a thief in the night in the palace of my husband and dare to question me?"

"I felt unwell, madam," Paris lied, bowing his head submissively. "I merely sought refuge in the rooms your husband provided for me and was startled by your presence."

"A fabrication," the queen protested as she removed her hood.

"My lady?"

Helen glided closer to him, pressing her body against his. "And I believe I know the truth.... You came in search of me."

Paris opened his mouth in protest, but immediately thought the better of it. Though he did not desire Helen, she would prove to be the perfect distraction. He would woo her, steal her away from Menelaus which would divert the old king's attention from Achilles. It would be far simpler, he knew, than attempting sneak away unnoticed. Hector would discover him long before he was able to reach Achilles and force him back to Troy. To steal Helen away would be a far simpler task.

"My intentions are not as easily masked as I had hoped," Paris murmured, bowing his head slightly. "I do not seek to wrong your husband the king on the eve of the peace treaty he and my father have fought so long for."

"Do you really have such an alliance to a father you have not long known? Why deny your heart for a peace that means as little to you as it does to me?" Helen asked him, using a delicate finger to raise Paris' head. She met his dark eyes with her own flawless blue ones. "Peace treaty or no they will find some other cause for war."

Stealing himself, Paris lifted his hands to frame her cheeks and drew her into a kiss with as much passion as he could muster. With his eyes closed, he thought to envision her as his love and infuse only small portion of the passion he felt for Achilles into the kiss because he did not expect to be able to muster up more. What Paris felt was only revulsion. The cheeks that he held were not Achilles'. The lips that he kissed were not Achilles'. The body possessed curves that his lover's did not and it was all that Paris could do not to thrust the woman from him.

"Desire stirs you well, young prince," Helen sighed against his lips as they parted. "I would see that passion in its fullest."

"And so you shall, my lady," Paris murmured in return, forcing the revulsion from his voice.

Taking firm hold of his hand, Helen guided Paris into her own chambers. There would be no stopping what was to come next. Should he do so, Helen would betray him to Menelaus and he would be unable to save his love.

That night was the most difficult Paris could remember enduring. His heart rebelled with every action of his body. Helen's gentle caresses to his naked flesh seemed more like the stroke of a lash as she divested him of his clothes and spread him before her on her wide bed.

"If you would but let me, I would love you till the sands of time run empty," Helen murmured as she slid her lithe body against his own.

"You would bind yourself to me so readily?" Paris asked, honestly startled by the depth of the devotion Helen was displaying. "You know nothing of me."

"I have seen your heart," she countered, simply coyly down at him. "Any who wants to may see it by merely gazing into your eyes. You have not yet learned to hide your emotions and just now, in the corridor, they were shining with love."

Paris said nothing, allowing Helen to believe what she would. The love she had spoken of had been there, true enough, but love for Achilles. He loved the warrior dearly, and would do whatever was necessary to keep him safe.

Even allow himself to be seduced by the lady of the house and convince her that he was utterly devoted to her and her alone.

"I will love you," Paris said to her three night's later on the eve of his departure from Sparta. "Until the day they burn my body, I will love you."