Take Me Home

I want to take this opportunity to thank everyone for their reviews. ^_^ It's nice to know that this fic is well received. Here's the next chapter though not betaed yet. If you have time, go to my site at http://breathless.shadowess.com for other fics too and sometimes, I give a sneak preview of the next chapter before I officially post them in other sites.

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Part 20

“Why would he keep this from me?” Achilles hissed angrily although his tone was less menacing now. He was not mad at Paris anymore, but himself. The guilt he was suffering was eating deep inside him and made him grieve even more. It had become an infected wound now, festering with pus. He wondered if it would ever go away.

He paced back and forth by the foot of the bed. His grey eyes followed the physicians like a hawk, watching them as they worked swiftly to clean the wounds and applied the paste they had pounded in the small mortar. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust them, but he was being worried. The physicians were used to treating such injuries. However, Paris was no Myrmidon – he was delicate and able to tolerate less pain.

Right now, the bedchamber was stuffy because two bronze braziers had been brought in and placed at two corners of the room. Only the window was kept slightly ajar to ensure that some fresh air could circulate into the room. Still strong pungent smells of herbs and other medicines made one’s eyes tearful from the stings.

“He … he was afraid that you might kill your son. He didn’t want Troy to make another enemy from this,” Tassos replied. He, too, was watching his friend with concern.

Paris was lying on his side with bandages wound around his torso. His eyes were clenched tightly as if suffering pain in his dreams. There were huge dark shadows under the lower lids and his ashen face was sweaty. Tiny crystal beads lined his upper lip and they moved occasionally – he was hallucinating in his feverish state. Once or twice, he twitched and quickly worsened to wild trashing. Achilles and Tassos had to work together to hold him down, to stop him from injuring himself further.

When all that the physicians could do for their patient had been performed, they left their prince and his slave quietly.

The silence that fell immediately was like standing in the death house. Vulnerability was an easy target here and thoughts became the enemy because any kind of emotions could breed itself like an infestation to flood the inner being. The weaker of mind and will was easily eaten, leaving the carcass to walk the ground without dreams; without a master to give it purpose. At this moment, Achilles’ darkest demon was emerging, urging him to pick up the sword he left standing at the corner and find the perpetrators who caused all these pain. His blood called for a killing rampage. He was in dangerous mode.

His right foot took the first step by itself towards the sword that his mother had given him. There was no Achilles inside him now, only a beast with an agenda to kill. Somehow, his bloodshot eyes burning with hatred fell upon the feeble youth laying on the bed. As he was facing away from him, Achilles could not see the suffering countenance.

Achilles noticed the blanket covered just half-way of Paris’ left hip. In the low light, the youth would have appeared like a sensual lover except that the upper part of his body was swaddled and that reminded the blond prince of the reality they were going through. This image softened Achilles’ gaze and it pushed away the anger in his heart.

He wasn’t even aware that he had made steps towards Paris until he found himself standing beside the prone figure. For a long moment, he gazed at his lover’s hands that were stretched out limply on the bed. When he finally emerged from his trance, he picked them up and covered them in his larger palms. They felt cold so he gave them a gentle squeeze before rubbing softly to bring heat back in them.

His heart constricted painfully when he witnessed the young suffering face so badly tormented. Paris needed him now. He should not abandon him and most importantly, never leave him behind, ever again. Twice he had neglected his duty in caring for him when he promised he would and twice Paris was hurt. It was all his fault.

In a dream-like daze, Achilles began to take off his woolen cloak and bent to unlace his sandals. Tassos was immediately beside him and helped him. Achilles did not thank him in words, but placed a hand on the boy’s head.

“Go see the physician for that bruise,” Achilles said as if talking to a child. He was sorry to see the dark colours forming on Tassos’ cheek where he had hit him so hard.

The boy looked up at Master Achilles and nodded. He gave him a small smile, accepting the Prince’s unspoken apology.

After Tassos had left, Achilles sat on the side of the bed. He took the cloth draped over the headboard and wiped the sweat off Paris’ forehead. A frown appeared instead and so he caressed him in affection to smoothen them again. Then he climbed into bed and lay beside him. He took the slack hands in his and placed them over his heart, covering them protectively with his own.

“I’m so sorry, Paris. I had not taken my responsibility to take care of you as I had pledged and I wrongly accused you out of my own blind jealousies. You know that I love you very much and I was afraid of losing you because you have never revealed what is in your heart. I should have faith in you that you would never betray me. I was wrong. Please forgive me?” Achilles watched his lover closely while brushing a finger on his brow repeatedly.

Paris clenched his hands in response. It was as if he was still angry at Achilles and the man did not blame him. He moved his body closer and carefully locked his arms with Paris. He would never let go of the Trojan youth ever again.

“I love you, Paris. Believe me, I do. And I will never let anyone hurt you again,” Achilles whispered sorrowfully and gave a kiss on his forehead.

~*~

“My King,” a man of about sixty and slightly bent on the back entered Peleus’ small office. As his legs were rather stiff especially in the cold weather, he walked with a slight limp.

The other man looked up and didn’t like the grave features of his advisor. It meant that he carried ill news. “What is it, Aeschylus?”

Aeschylus did not answer immediately, but shuffled closer after the closing the door behind him. Although the report he received from his assistant a while ago was nothing very serious, still he knew trouble was brewing. He was not elected to advice Peleus on friendship sake.

“Achilles had caused a bit of discontent with a few slaves. Apparently, the prince got himself very drunk at the Throne Hall. No one knew why, but they reported that he seemed to be in a very dark mood.” Aeschylus used a lower voice so that the guards outside would not hear this conversation. It was private family matters and should be dealt with quietly.

“And why should I be worried?” King Peleus dropped the treaty he was holding in his hand. He knew that his friend would not come to him just to inform him of his son’s behaviour.

“Something had upset ‘the boy’ terribly. One of the slave claimed that he saw the new slave that Achilles had acquired for his … ‘other’ … slave poured a bucket of water on his master. Then they were heard having a huge arguments,” Aeschylus gave his report carefully.

“I think Achilles had been too lenient with his slaves. He is not keeping them at their places,” the old King leaned back on his high-back wooden chair. That piece of furniture had been used by his father and his father’s father.

“It gets worst,” Aeschylus said. Peleus arched a thick eyebrow.

“They were apparently fighting over the Trojan boy.”

“Lover’s tiff?” Peleus wondered. It wouldn’t come as a surprise to him because this was nothing new especially when it came to one of Achilles’ love affairs.

“It did not seem like it. My assistant also found out that two physicians were called to attend to the Trojan boy. He was badly injured, but no one knew why or who had done it.” Aeschylus watched the King mull over the matter.

After some time, Peleus let out a long defeated sigh. “There is nothing I can do for now. I know that boy. He will not tell me if he doesn’t want to. However, I will keep an eye open on him. Thank you, Aeschylus.”

The advisor gave a sound nod and hobbled away quietly; Peleus had a lot of things to think about.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Paris’ closed eyelids twitched a couple of times. He was fighting the shadows behind those lids. About a minute later, the muscles in his hands and arms began to convulse too; he was trying to crawl back to the light of reality. Achilles felt the motions in his sleep and immediately jerked awake. At first, he thought something had crept into the bed. When he realized that the pair of hands he was still holding had moved, his heart started to pound with anxiety and elation. He was extremely happy that Paris still had the will in him to come back to the living so soon because he was seriously afraid that the youth would give up fighting and slip away in his feverish suffering.

Tassos and he had taken turns to stay awake all night, making sure that Paris was still breathing. They had been terribly worried that the youth wouldn’t make it through the night because the physicians weren’t optimistic either.

It took sometime for Paris to be able to break through the crust of tears he had shed when he went through his distress that night. He blinked many times to clear the cloudy vision that plagued his sight and the fogginess in his brain.

He was afflicted temporarily by amnesia, suddenly unsure where he was and why he was there. He stared blankly for some time at Achilles, trying hard to recall the face that loomed over him with such sadness. Between the dreams and the medicines that he had taken, all the images that he had ‘seen’ and ‘heard’ were jumbled and he wasn’t sure what was real and what was not.

Forgetting entirely that he had injuries, he made to get up. It was only when the hurt in his body was screaming until he was knocked back onto the bed that he remembered he was seriously wounded. He couldn’t help moaning aloud and grimacing as the burn in his back returned. It was through these mind numbing stiffness and sore that he recalled what had happened the day before.

Achilles was seated upright and facing his lover; his right hand busy sweeping the dark curls away from Paris’ face. It was all done with care and love. The youth wanted to pull away from his touches, but couldn’t – he lack the strength and his body had limited mobility.

The fiery hatred in Paris’ eyes and his rejection towards his caress hurt Achilles deeply because he had worked for so long and so hard to gain the Trojan’ trust and affections – only to lose them once more. However, there was only he to blame; he was responsible for these consequences.

“How are you feeling, Paris?” Achilles’ voice was full of concern. “Should I prepare you the pain killing herbs? You can take them now and then go back to sleep. You must have a lot of rest.”

Paris remained mute, and swerved his eyes to look elsewhere. The throb on his back was like someone had sliced out the top layer of his skin and salt thrown over the exposed inner flesh – it was horrible yet he was too stubborn to admit it. Helpless as he was right now, he refused to appear weak in front of Achilles. He would not revert back to his childish cowardice. He would prove to this cruel man that he needed no one’s help and he could deal with his ‘problem’ by himself. He would survive through this. He was only a man’s property anyway and soon to be an outcast stray dog to sleep on the dirt and be kicked around whenever he got in someone’s way.

“I’m really sorry, Paris. I … I didn’t mean to … to …,” Achilles had to swallow the huge lump in his throat before he could continue. “It was inexcusable what I had done to you. I had allowed … my jealousies and impatience to rule my head. I broke your trust in me … because … because I didn’t believe you in the first place. Please, Paris, please forgive me.”

Young Paris was not in a forgivable mood – his heart hurt deeply and he was drained mentally and physically. If he could, he wanted to get away from here or at least turn his whole body away from the man who claimed to love him with all his heart. Instead, all he could do was close his eyes and willed the world to disappear from his very eyes. Of course that would be impossible unless he was a god, but he could certainly ignore Achilles entirely.

Why didn’t he die? It was not the torturing pain he was going through that made him wish for this, but because he didn’t have anymore reasons to stay. Everyone had betrayed him, including the only friend he made.

Throughout the day and the next few days, Paris made not a single sound except the soft whimpers of pain that he could not hide whenever they helped him to turn to the other side or when he stubbornly insisted on going to the toilet instead of the small pot that Tassos handed to him. Paris had changed a lot since he came here, but at a high price of nearly loosing his life.