Take Me Home

Part 4

“We shall leave tomorrow just before day break,” Achilles announced as soon as he entered the tent.

He found the youth on his knees, going through some of the warrior’s personal belongings. Either he was looking for a weapon to steal or simply too bored being cooped up in the tent for so long, he was not sure. However, the youth did not react in startle when he entered. That was a good sign. Perhaps he was only curious.

Paris looked up from where he was crouching; a sad feature suddenly marred his perfection. He knew the day would come but still it was too soon for him. After all, he had been a captive for only three days.

“I shall never see my family again, will I? Never again to walk on this soil in my lifetime.” His voice was so small, so unsure.

Achilles knelt beside the prince and cupped his face in his large, coarse palms. It never ceased to intrigue him that he liked touching the soft, supple skin so much like a young girl’s.

“Am I not your family, your closest one, now that we have twice joined our bodies?”

That statement made Paris reddened furiously as he fisted his hands in conceived anger. What was Achilles talking about? He was forced upon.

“Our houses have become one now. One day I will let you sail back to Tror aor a visit if it still stands after this war.”

“I should not have defied my brother’s warning. Then I would not have ridden with him to the temple that day. I was so foolish,” Paris revealed regretfully. The Trojan youth sighed with such desencyency that it touched Achilles’ heart.

Prince Paris knew deep within his heart, although he tried not to think about it, that Troy along with his entire family would perish under Agamemnon’s greed. He would probably be the sole survivor of the House of Priamus though not as a princt a t a slave. History had repeated itself although he would meet a wretched end.

“It is the will of the gods, Paris. They were responsible for steering you to that course of actions that you had taken. You were meant to find me.”

The intensity of their stares was turning awkward and Paris wanted to look away, but he couldn’t move his head. He was trapped just like his body, but what about his heart?

“Why so soon?” the prince asked.

He had just recovered enough to get up and walk around the tent. Feeling restless with nothing to do, he started rummaging through Achilles’ possessions, an enigmatic person in his own way.

The man in front of him was supposed to be a legend, a bedtime story of a far, far away land told by his brother Hector who heard it from the talks among the palace councilors. They were little boys then, full of fantastic imaginations.

Never in Paris’ wildest dreams had he thought that he would meet the greatest hero in all of Hellene’s nations. It was even more unbelievable when this same person expressed his wish to whisk him back to his homeland and take him as his lover. This usually happened to pretty princesses. At that moment, he felt more like a war prize than anything.

An escape plan should have crossed Paris’ mind but his indecision about this Greek made him hesitate. He was still confused. He did not know why his mind and body were torn between running away and staying back. Achilles was his enemy and yet something about the way he had touched him convinced him to stay back.

“The accursed brothers will leave me no peace, confronting me with every means to take you away from me. I don’t want anyone else to touch you,” Achilles answered rather vehemently but he quickly smothered that anger. Releasing a long sigh, he continued. “Besides, you know what fate lies for me here. I’ve come to realize that fame and glory are nothing if I am not there to bask in them. And now that I found you, I am even more reluctant to shorten my life span.”

Paris was rendered speechless by Achilles’ confessions. Had he spoken out from his heart or was he an expert in charming his fancied flings? Would he toss him to the men after he was done? Was this a dream or a coming nightmare? Maybe the gods were playing a joke on him, in revenge for rebuffing Athena and Hera in favour of Aphrodite and her gift?

“They will not stop trying, I can assure you that. Do not leave this tent because if you do I will never see you again.” Achilles’ deep, sultry voice was almost pleading.

His grey eyes searched frantically into Paris’ blue orbs, to find the answers he was looking for.

“Promise me?” The warrior grabbed the youth’s arms and shook him a little to gain his attention when he remained silent.

Finally, the young prince nodded and looked down. He was powerless to help his family and being caught by Agamemnon would only hasten the destruction of his beloved city. He would never allow that to happen. He cursed himself mercilessly for being a selfish brat, thinking only of his own wants as usual instead of with his head and now he had invited enemies to the fronor sor step. However, since Achilles had declared that he was withdrawing from taking part in this war perhaps there was still hope.

“I just want you to be safe,” Achilles explained and gathered the young man into his arms. He surprised even himself for doing that because he was never openly affectionate towards anyone. Nevertheless, the warmth of this yielding body soothed him.

Resigned to his fate, Paris remained passive in Achilles’ embrace. He felt drained in mind and body and had not the energy to lift his arms and wound them around the muscular torso. He wished he could draw some form of strength or comfort from his new master to lift his spirit.

Unbidden, big, fat tears began to appear and he pressed his face deeper into the strong chest. He didn’t know why he was crying. He felt the hard biceps around him tighten and that made him feel safe; it had been awhile since anyone had held him like that.

The scent of salty sea and Achilles wafted into his nose and they sent his brain spinning lazily. He closed his eyes unconsciously and fell gradually into a deep slumber.

Sensing that Paris had stopped crying, Achilles loosened his hold and peered at the youth. The peaceful features still wet with tears caused him to smile. Carefully, he carried Paris and deposited him onto the bed.

After making sure that the prince was properly tucked in, he busied himself with packing. Normally Patroclus would help him but this time, he wanted to do it by himself. He didn’t want anyone to disturb his sleeping prince.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

“Come home, Paris,” Hector’s voice penetrated his mind. The deep, familiar voice that he missed so much startled him and he looked around frantically to find his brother.

“He will destroy you, Paris and he will kill us all,” Hector spoke again.

“Help me, Hector,” Paris pleaded as he fought furiously to get away from the fathom restraints around his arms and chest.

Suddenly, he was let go and he fell forward into a field of golden wheat. The stalks had reached the height to his chest as he stood up straight.

Making a full turn on his spot, he saw only wheat that stretched as far as his eyes could see. Whenever the wind blew, it made ripples on the surface, just like the waves in the ocean.

Was he in Elysium?

“Hector!” Paris called out. Only silence greeted him.

“Hector!” he yelled as loud as he could this time but heard only his own voice shouted back.

Panicking, he scanned the horizon again, in case he saw someone else around. No one – only the sound of the wind and the rustles of the tall stalks rubbing together.

“Don’t leave me! Please don’t leave me!” Paris yelled, almost crying.

“Paris,” another familiar voice called out, followed by vigorous shaking on his shoulders.

The prince woke up with a start. His wide blue eyes stared at Achilles who loomed over him. He looked so vulnerable and lost, reminding the warrior how delicate the youth was.

“You’re dreaming. Are you all right now?” he asked with concern.

Paris rubbed his face and feeling the wetness on his forehead. He nodded as soon as he composimseimself.

“We are leaving now. You must get ready.” Achilles watched the prince carefully.

Again Paris only nodded. He got out of bed and realizing that he was nude, turned around quickly, away from the other man.

Achilles handed him a dark-coloured cloak that the youth put on quickly. He wished that the older man could have given him some proper clothes because he still felt naked underneath.

While drawing the hood over Paris’ head, Achilles checked to make sure that he was properly covered. They couldn’t risk attracting attention on the prince.

Earlier, Achilles had ordered some of his men to scout around the Achaean encampments and subdue any spies that could raise the alarm to Agamemnon’s men to bear down on them while they tried to sneak away. Achilles and his men were not afraid of them but he knew that they would distract him especially while the others steal Paris away.

When they stepped out of the tent, the night was still surrounding them. Paris turned immediately to gaze above the hundreds of dark tents, to the black silhouette of a citadel sitting on top of a small hill. His heart longed desperately to return to the familiar fort that had kept him safe until four days ago.

Meanwhile, several Myrmidon soldiers went back and forth with stealth and silence as if floating ghosts, carrying things into the ship. The tent would be left behind as well as the bigger items because they couldn’t afford to arouse the entire camp.

Suddenly, Paris didn’t want to go away. He didn’t move when Achilles pushed his back gently, urging him towards the water.

Knowing too well, Achilles picked up the young man and threw him over his shoulder. Paris gasped by the suddenness and was about to yell and protest in natural reaction but stopped himself in time.

If Achilles left this war, Troy might still stand a chance to survive. He did not know how long the war would last, but at least Achilles would not kill his brother Hector as foretold in the oracle.

As an ultimate sacrifice to help his people and his kingdom and to pay for the suffering he had brought upon them, he obediently allowed himself to be carried off into the night.

Taking a last look up the hill, at the city of Troy, he bid his silent goodbye within his heart. He was bleeding with remorse and sadness that threatened tears to spill.

As he stood on the stern of the trireme and looking back, reality hit him in full force and he could not hold back his tears any longer. He cried silently. Even though he wtilltill in Troy’s water, he already felt that he had stepped out of her borders and was now a foreigner to the land that he was born to and grown up in.

Achilles was pressing against Paris’ back, his arms held loosely around the trembling form as they watched the retreating shore together. The man was afraid that the youth would try to jump into the sea and swim back to the beach, so he stayed close to him most of the time.

Neither of them saw what the others had seen, that Patroclus was watching the couple with burning hatred in his eyes.