Spirits Forged in Fire

Briseis became aware of a pounding in the back of her skull as she slowly came to. Her eyes fluttered open as she slowly became aware of different, strange sensations around her. First she heard men's voices from a distance, as well as the occasional clanging and banging of metal against wood. There was raucous laughter, and course language being tossed about, but all were muffled, as if heard through a blanket. Next she became aware of the feeling of soft furs covering her body and underneath her head. The air smelled slightly smoky, and slightly masculine, like sweaty men mixed with the faint spray of the sea.She made out the shape of someone moving around on the far side of the dark room...no...tent. She was in a tent, in a man's tent...Oh Gods! Ignoring the sharp pain in the back of her head, Briseis scrambled upright and onto her feet, and made a beeline for the doorway to the tent. When she pulled it open and her eyes finally adjusted to the sudden bright light, she saw men scattered everywhere, some eating, some practicing weaponry, some telling stories. What stopped her from entering the sunlight though was the realization that they were all Greeks! Her memory of the struggle back at the temple, the searing headache, and the newfound knowledge that she was a captive held in the center of the Greek war camp was too much for her already weakened body. She was barely conscious enough to register that her knees were giving way, but she could not stop her fall. She awakened out of her swoon the moment that she felt strong hands grasp her waist, and tried to struggle when she felt herself being lifted into strong, bare arms. Too afraid to look into her captor's eyes, she clenched hers shut as the first tear worked its way down her cheek. She didnt open her eyes when she was placed on the bed, and was determined never to open them again until she felt the featherlight touch of a finger brush away the tear on her cheek. Shocked at the comforting gesture, her eyes flew open to stare into icy blue depths that immediately reminded her of the sea before a storm. Although the room was quite dark, she could make out the lines of high cheekbones, and a strong chin. His face held no malice, no threat whatsoever, and Briseis almost found herself relaxing in his presence.

"You took quite a hit to the head. I wouldn't try walking until you get a little more rest than that." The man's hand brushed a stray curl out of her face. "Now how did a priestess of Apollo learn how to handle a knife like that?" When Briseis heard his question, she braced herself, expecting a punishing blow. She was surprised to see the corner of her captor's lips twitch upward in the beginnings of a smile. Still fearing for her safety, Briseis made no effort to answer.

"Unless you want to end up out there with the men, I suggest you consider answering." His lips still held the ghost of a smile, but Briseis became aware of a deadly calm behind the man in front of her.

"My cousins wanted to be sure that I could defend myself should a situation ever arise."

"I dont know too many priestesses that find themselves in positions where a knife could possibly be useful though. You have not always been a priestess, have you?" Briseis hesitated, but did not wish to anger this man who so far had posed no real threat to her.

"No."

"I cant imagine anyone of royal blood content to live the life of a priestess though." Briseis looked up in fear, realizing that somehow she had been found out. She struggled to sit up, and began to open her mouth to vehemently deny her identity, but was shushed with a finger against her lips. "Shhh. I have been around too many princesses to not know royalty when I see it. Your clothes may be simple, but no priestess that I have ever seen moves or speaks like you do. They serve the gods because they desire to be servants. The fire in your eyes tells me you never will truly serve anyone, god or not. Now tell me, who are you really, before I get angry?"

"My name is Briseis, and I am the neice of King Priam, cousin to the Princes Hector and Paris." She whispered, defeated. The man took in a breath and whistled it out through his teeth.

"Well that would count as royalty I suppose." She saw the smile return. "Do not worry my lady Briseis, no one will learn your identity from me." The blonde man stood, his sinewy muscles stretching as he rose to his full height before turning to walk off through the flap of the tent, allowing a bright stream of light to pierce the dusky shadow of the tent.

"Wait, you havent told me your name." Briseis held her breath, daring to hope that she hadnt stepped out of line. When he turned, she got her first good look at the man who held her prisoner within his tent. She nearly gasped at the hard beauty of his appearance. He was muscular, and looked every inch a warrior. His blonde hair hung shoulderlength, and exposed a face that was both angelic and menacing at the same time. His movements were smooth and graceful, but reminded her of the caged tigers brought into the palace for sport from time to time, beautiful yet deadly all at the same time.

"No I havent. But I am Achilles. And now you rest." He then left the tent, and she was once again bathed in darkness. Briseis couldnt hold back the shiver that ran down her spine as she heard the name of the man whose skills in battle were unmatched in all of Greece and its territories. The man was a killer, bred for war and born for death, and she was lying helpless in his bed.