No longer a secret;the window is shattered

Will More Strongly


Chapter XVII


Pain laced through his body and Paris found himself desperately wishing that he could fade back into unconsciousness. It was the all too physical pain that was preventing him from slipping away. He attempted to roll onto his side, but the pain increased and a cry slipped past his lips.

"Paris?"

He recognized the voice as one that he should not have been able to hear. Briseis was not in the Greek camp and for that matter Paris could hear none of the loud sounds that he had become used to over the past few days.

"Can you hear me, cousin?" Briseis murmured, her hand ghosting across his cheek.

Paris turned his face away from her touch, squeezing his eyes shut tight. "... 'chilles...."

"No, cousin, you are safe now," Briseis continued as she brought her hand to his cheek once again. "You are away from that vile brute and with your family. All will be well again, Paris. Your body will heal, this war will end and then our family will be made whole again."

"Nononononoooo...." Paris moaned, slowly blinking his eyes open. "Achilles... Achilles, please...."

Paris saw only the ceiling of his bedchamber and not the dark hides that topped Achilles' tent. Whimpering, he turned his head to the side as exhaustion claimed him and he drifted back into the realms of dreams.
~*~*~

Achilles released a deep, shuddering breath, his eyes focused upwards at teilieiling of his tent so that he would not see anything that would remind him of Alexandros. Though they had spent little more than a day in each other's company, Achilles was reminded of his beloved with each sight. The cushions where he'd laid. Where they'd made love. The ewer with which he'd teased Achilles by dribbling water over his bare chest. The gash in the back wall where he'd cut himself an exit. The dark blue linen that was stained darker still with his blood. Even staring up at the ceiling, Achilles could see his dear 'Xandros grinning down at him right before he straddled his waist.

His decision had been the right one to make, though. Alexandros would be much better cared for by his father's physicians and would have a better chance of survival without the threat of Agamemnon looming over him.

"Achilles?" Patroclus called from outside tent.ent.

Scowling, Achilles turned his head towards the opening of the tent. Alexos wos was the one whose voice he wanted to hear.

"Cousin, the men are waiting for your orders," Patroclus informed him, moving near enough to the edge of the door flap that he blocked out the light. "They want to know whether we are to remain here or return home. A way has been cleared through the s and and we could depart on the evening tide--"

"We are not leaving these shores while Alexandros is behind those walls," Achilles growled, his voice low and threatening.

The light returned to the small slit in the tent's opening as Patroclus wandered away. Achilles continued to stare that way for a few moments then turned his gaze back towards the ceiling. He stared up at the dark hides, waiting for Alexandros' face to appear before his eyes once again.

~*~*~

"How is he?" Priam asked his young niece as he entered his son's room. "Has he awoken at all?"
riefriefly," Briseis informed him, rising from her seat at her cousin's bedside. "He asked for the Greek.... Uncle, what is going on? Why will no one tell me what happened to Paris? I know that it has to do with Hector... with Hector's death.... Please, Uncle, I want to be able to give Paris answers when he awakes next."

Sighing, Priam crossed the room and sat on the very edge of the bed so that he would not disrupt Paris any. "You know of Paris' life before he came to us last year?"

"He was a shepherd on Mount Ida," Briseis responded immediately, brushing aside the fact as common knowledge. "I have teased him about it many a time."

"Paris had a life before us and Achilles is a part of that life. I did not want to bel it, it, but I cannot deny that they love each other greatly."

"But Achilles is a savage brute," Briseis insisted, casting a worried gaze on her cousin. "He and his men murdered the priests of the temple of Apollo. Men who were unarmed and posed no threat to him. He is a murderer.”

"He is a murderer who is in loith ith my son," Priam forced himself to admit.

On the bed Paris shifted irritably, gasping out a moan. Whether it was his imagination or not, Priam was certain that he heard Achilles' name on his youngest's lips. He lightly placed his hand upon Paris' calf, rubbing it lightly through the sheet that covered him. Still, Paris continued to move about restlessly and the sheet slipped from his chest to reveal the white bandage wrapped around his midsection. There was blood on the band mor more than he believed there should have been.

"Briseis, would you please go fetch the physician," Priam ordered, not taking his eyes from the bloodied bandage.

Following his gaze, the girl let out a startled gasp and immediately bolted from the room. Priam himself remained quietly calm. His younger son was stronger than others gave him credit for. Only days old, he had survived being abandoned on the slopes of Mount Ida when those hills should have become his tomb. Paris had survived that and thrived, proving himself to be strong and determined and loyal; everything a son of Troy should be.

Beyond that, Priam knew that Paris would survive, if only to return to Achilles' side.

~*~*~

Achilles stood in the center of a circle of men, armed and ready to defend himself from their attacks. Each blade was a blunted wooden sword, the kind used in practice, but still painful when hit with the force Achilles was able to inflict. And Achilles most certainly did inflict pain for there was nothing to restrain him. His beloved was once again lost to him; perhaps even permanently should Alexandros' injuries prove fatal.

So instead Achilles distracted himself by training with those soldiwho who were brave enough to fight him. He fought several groups of men in rapid succession, not allowing himself to rest. If he were to rest, his mind would have time to remember just what it was that had been taken from him. He would become a victim of his grief.

He fought until exhaustion brought him to his knees and even then pushed himself further still. It was Odysseus who ultimately forced him to stop, earning him a hard slap against his thigh with the flat of Achilles' wooden sword.

"Peace, my friend," Odysseus hissed as he forcefully extracted the practice sword from Achilles' grasp. "I have no desire to find myself impaled because you cannot keep your temper in check."
hillhilles growled at him and snatched his sword back from Odysseus. "I do not take orders from you. Now leave me be."

"Would you believe that I genuinely care for you?" Odysseus called after him.

"Not for one instant," Achilles said over his shoulder as he stalked towards his tent. "Now leave me be. I have more important things to concern myself with."

"Such as taking temporary leave of your senses?"

Spinning about on his heel, Achilles charged across the distance that separated them so that he was standing directly in front of the King of Ithaca. "My senses are as firm as they have ever been."

Rather than feeling threatened, Odysseus merely grinned broadly. "That, I do believe, is a matter of opinion. And I have it on firm authority that were you to place a wager on your supposed sanity you would lose. Fifty to one I believe are the odds."

"You talk far too much," Achilles growled, leaning in closer still.

"I am only telling you the truth, Achilles," Odysseus sighed, his smile fading noticeably. "As your friend. I am worried about you because it is impossible for you to go on like this. You will make a mistake and that mistake will be fatal."

Spinning about on his heel, Achilles stalked off in the opposite direction. He had no desire to listen to yet another of Odysseus' lectures. The man was too fond of hearing his own voice as it was and at the moment Achilles could not endure another moment of it. He had made a mistake in allowing Priam to take Alexandros from him and was desperate to rectify that mistake. He had promised Troy's king a peace that would last the duration of his son's funeral games and he needed to remain in the Greek camp for that to happen. Agamemnon would not abide by a peace unless he was there to enforce it.

As he shoved his way into his tent, Achilles' eyes immediately locked onto the bloodied cloth that his beloved had been wearing when Hector had stabbed him. It was a morbid reminder of what was undoubtedly the most terrifying moment of his life, but one that he could not bear to part with.

Dropping to his knees before the rumpled pile of cushions, Achilles ran his fingertips along the ruined fabric. The brittleness of the dried blood made him uneasy, a shudder wracking his spine as his mind processed the fact that it was Alexandros' blood. He crawled forward, clutching the cloth to his chest as he stretched himself out along the cushions, waiting for exhaustion to claim him. Achilles prayed that the gods would allow him visions of Alexandros in his dreams for at the moment dreams were all he had. There was a chance that they would be all he would have if one of them did not survive the war.

~*~*~

It was only with a great force of will that Paris was able to roll himself onto his side. Every movement caused a new slice of pain to radiate through his entire body and he bit savagely into his bottom lip to keep from crying out. He had to get back to Achilles. He could not lose him again. He could not be lost again. Whimpering, Paris curled himself into as tight a ball as he could manage without it hurting too much.

"Achilles...." Paris whimpered, clutching tightly to one of the pillows. "Achilles, please...."

He could not understand why Achilles had left him. Paris had only wanted to keep Achilles and Hector from hurting oth other. He loved them both and could not bear the thought of the one hurting the othPariParis wanted both of them to be safe. Now he feared that Achilles was dead. He did not believe that Achilles would have let him go willingly. Achilles had promised that he wouldn't let him go again and Paris still believed that promise.

"You are awake."

Footsteps glided across the floor and Paris found himself looking into Andromache's red-rimmed eyes. Paris knew that she cared for him, but the pain in her features was too great even given his injuries.

"You gave us all quite a scare, little brother," Andromache murmured as she lowered herself down beside his bed. "We feared that we had lost you both."

Paris' brows furrowed, Andromache's words unlike any he had been expecting. "W-who is lost?"

Her face crumpled at his words and Paris felt a shot of panic streak through him. He knew then that he had feared for the wrong man and felt sick with himself for being relieved that Achilles had not been killed. Paris did not need Andromache to tell him who had died because he knew Achilles and knew how Achilles would react if he was put in danger "I "I am so sorry," Paris whispered, turning his face into the pillow beneath his head. "I meant to stop them. I did not want either of them to be harmed. I swear it, Andromache. I would never had begun all this if I had known that it would cost Hector his life."

Andromache reached out and lightly ran her fingers through his rumpled curls. "Hush now. You do not have a malicious bone in your body and would not willing hurt anyone, especially not Hector."

Paris desperately wanted to know Achilles' fate, but could not ask his fallen brother's wife what had become of the man who killed her husband. He could not even defend Achilles' actions even though he knew that his beloved had only killed Hector instinctually after he had been injured. Achilles likely hadn't even been aware of what he was doing until he had completed the act. He had seen the battle craze that Achilles went into when he or something he cared for was threatened.

"The sentries watching from the temple saw much of the battle," Andromache said after a time. "Hector had warned them not to interfere so they did not. They say that Achilles never once... that he was concerned only with fending off Hector and did not once try to hurt him. Until you were there and Hector... until you were hurt.... Is it true that Achilles had his men murder the priests in the temple because they told him that you were dead?"

Paris nodded his head slightly. "The priests placed the one gift I had ever given him into the flames and then told him that Alexandros was no more. He took that to mean that I was dead and slaughtered the priests because of it.... I would have done the same."

"Then you have a great love," Andromache sighed as she rose to her feet. "I am glad that you are well, Paris."

With a promise to bring Astyanax to visit once Paris was better, Andromache fled the room with quick footsteps. Once he heard the door close behind her, Paris released the pained gasp that he had been holding in since she had arrived. He did not want her to know that he was in pain. His hurts were minor when compared to Hector's death.

"Please find me," he moaned, squeezing his eyes shut tight as the pain forced him to roll back onto his side.

~*~*~

"Another trinket for your son?" Diomedes murmured as he knelt down behind Odysseus, sliding his hands along the fairer man's sides.

A slight smile curved Odysseus' lips and he held the small wooden horse up for the other man's inspection. "Telemachus will be a year older before I return to Ithaca. Older still perhaps depending upon how long this war drags out."

Chuckling quietly, Diomedes pressed a kiss to the nape of his lover's neck. "Then use that stunning wit of yours to bring about an end to this war all the sooner."

"So it is left to me to play the peacekeeper," Odysseus smirked, setting the carved figure aside so that he could stretch out on his back. Even as he closed his eyes to ward off the dull throb he could feel building at his temples, he held a hand out towards Diomedes, drawing the other man against his side.

"Agamemnon will never consent to peace," Diomedes pointed out as he began to trail his index finger along Odysseus' exposed stomach.

"No, he would kill every man here first," Odysseus conceded with a weary sigh. "Our most likely chance at victory-- for lack of a better term as I do not see this ending well for either side --is to remove Achilles. He is the center stone of this entire army. However, short of killing him, Achilles will not leave without his young shepherd. Which means we must reunite our often irrational companion with his Trojan prince."

"I had heard that the boy was dead," Diomedes mused, a frown creasing his brows. "Are you certain that he still lives?"

The corners of Odysseus' lips twisted upwards in a c app approximation of a smile. "The Trojan army still stands, does it not?"

"And Achilles simply gave the boy up?"

"Achilles simply gave the boy up," Odysseus confirmed, lifting his hands up to scrub at his face. He dropped his arms back to his side with a sigh. As Diomedes wrapped himself around Odysseus, he shifted onto his side, his eyes falling upon the toy horse that was meant for his son. He reached out and touched it with his fingertips then maneuvered onto his back so that he could see Diomedes’ face. "We should deliver a gift to the Trojans to show our grief for the loss of their prince."

Diomedes arched a dark brow. "We feel grief for Hector's death?"

"I assure you, my love, we do indeed."