Will More Strongly

Will More Strongly

Chapter VII


Achilles strode dejectedly through the newly formed Greek encampment. All around him there was great celebration in honour of their having taken the beach. It was a meager victory, one which Achilles did not feel the least bit inclined to participate in. Nor did he intend to remain long in Troy. He had come in the desperate hope that he would be able to find Alexandros. With that hope now thoroughly crushed, Achilles meant to sail from Troy at first light

"What ails you, cousin?" Patrolcus asked as he sprinted towards the older man. "All of our men have returned sa and and with a great deal of spoils so there is no need for you to be forlorn."

"By your accounting, no, I have no need to be melancholy," Achilles agreed, pausing as Patrolcus came to block his path. "However I did not come to Troy in search of spoils."

"You came for him," the younger man frowned. "Were you able to find no trace of your shepherd then?"

"The priests could give me no hope and destroyed with little I already had."

With little more than a curt nod, Achilles stepped around his cousin and continued on towards his tent where he hoped to find some peace. His plans now were to venture to the oracle at Delphi in search of a clue from the Pythia as to where Alexandros was. Achilles refused to believe that his lover was dead as the priests of Apollo claimed.

Achilles' dark expression kept others at bay and he was able to reach his tent unaccosted by the revelers. And though he could still hear sounds of the celebration taking place without, the somber light provided by the braziers offered him some measure of solace. Before the leather straps that acted as a door had even stopped their movemenAchiAchilles was stripping his armour from his body. He removed his crested helmet, tossing it aside without a care. His molded leather bronbronze breastplate, greaves and gauntlets soon followed, leaving Achilles clad only in sandals and a simple tunic.

With a sigh, Achilles threw himself upon a pile of large pillows and furs that would make up his bed for the duration of his stay in Troy. Instinctively, as he had done every night since receiving it, Achilles reached to run his fingertips over the smoothed surface of his ring. He squeezed his eyes shut tight when his fingers touched only skin and once again cursed the priests for having destroyed his ring.

"I hope you do not intend to spend your night brooding in these stuffy confines," Odysseus said smoothly as he poked his head through the entrance to Achilles' tent. "Agamemnon will not stand for it at ante. te. He expects all of the kings and generals to appear before him to pay homage."

Achilles let out a resounding groan as he sunk deeper into the cushions. "I intend to do no such thing. I owe him no allegiance."

The king of Ithaca rolled his eyes dramatically as he entered the tent fully. "Then do so simply to humour him. You know as well as I how dangerous Agamemnon is when crossed."

"You also know the severity of my rage and I can assure you that it is held in check by only the smallest of measures at this point," Achilles countered, still making no move to rise. "And even if I were so inclined, I am not bound by the same oaths as the rest of you. I did not attempt to win Helen for my bride and am therefore not obliged to see her returned to Menelaus as are the rest of her former suitors.... As you are, if I am not mistaken."

"And fortuitous was it that I was not chosen to be Helen's husband else I would now be subject to the fickle wiles of that woman," Odysseus quipped rather smugly. "I made a far better choice where my bride is concerned than poor Menelaus."

"Because Penelope allows you your indiscretions without beginning her own," Achilles drawled tiredly. "You should take advantage of such graces and spend your time with Diomedes who I am sure is hovering without."

"Unfortunately I must return to Agamemnon's tent," Odysseus sighed dramatically. "It would be in your interest to do the same."

Odysseus wisely departed then, leaving Achilles to his solitude. The blonde warriostenstened dimly to the excited shouts and cheers of the soldiers, hoping that the sound of it would drown out his thoughts. Before that morning, he had hoped to have Alexandros with him and would not need to once again sleep alone.

“No. I forbid it."

Achilles grunted as Alexandros dropped upon him, straddling his stomach. "'Xandros, I must go. I need tet uet up with my men so that we can return to Larissa."

"No, you are going to stay here with me," Alexandros insisted, leaning forward with his hands resting on either side of Achilles head. "I have decided that I will not be parted from you."

"Is that so?"

"It is," the grinning shepherd agreed. "I will lock you in the root cellar if I must, but you will stay here with me. Where it is safe."

"That is a very tempting offer," Achilles murmured as he lifted his hands to brush the errant curls from Alexandros' eyes.

"Then accept it," Alexandros pleaded, a hint of desperation in his ever express dark eyes.

Sighing, Achilles drew the younger man down against his chest. "I am sorry, Alexandros, but I must depart this morning. It cannot be put off. Know, though, that I will return to you as soon as I may."

When he had returned to the foothills surrounding Mount Ida a little more than six months later Alexandros had been gone, presumed dead by many people. Achilles now intended to search the entire world in order to find his lover.

"My lord, King Agamemnon requests your presence," a servant boy called into the tent. "He says you must come immediately."

Groaning, Achilles scrubbed his hands over his face. "Very well. Tell him that I will be there soon."

"Yes, my lord."

Forcing himself to his feet, Achilles staggered out of his tent and into the midst of the revelry. Achilles shoved aside the celebrants who crashed into him, walking in as stra a l a line as possible to the ship that Agamemnon had turned into his base of operations. Tales of what had happened in the temple must have spread like wildfire through the Greek camp because many came up to congratulate him on his acts. One man, however, got too close, patting Achilles between his shoulder blades. That man found himself upon the ground a moment later, his face bloodied from his profusely bleeding nose. After that no others approached him and Achilles made his way quickly to Agamemnon's tent.

When he arrived, one of the other Greek kings was kneeling before Agamemnon and swearing his allegiance. Achilles stood in the background, not wanting to be noticed, but was spotted by Odysseus who made a great show of wandering to his side.

"So you've deemed our company acceptable, have you?" the older man grinned as he draped an arm across Achilles' shoulders.

"Hardly," Achilles muttered, quicdisldislodging Odysseus' arm from his shoulder then crossing his arms over his chest. "I was summoned else I would still be in my tent."

"And now you are blessed to enjoy my company," Odysseus smirked, earning him a glare from the younger blonde. "Do not sulk so, you will dampen the frivolity of the night."

~*~*~

It baffled Helen as to why her new husband spent so much time on the balcony looking out towards the sea. It was a nightly ritual for the naive young prince. Helen had woken almost every night as Paris fled their bed for whatever sanctuary he found on the balcony. That night, however, Paris made no move to join her in bed.

All night, Paris had seemed distracted, moreso than the other men. Having always been very subdued in large crowds, Paris was even more so that night at dinner. There was also an odd tension between Paris and his elder brother. Parisiousiously worshipped Hector the way many young boys did the great heroes from old tales. If she did not know better she would have believed that Paris had spent his younger years marveling at Hector's exploits as a commoner rather than the warrior prince's younger brother.

There was a great deal about Paris that Helen admitted did not understand. And the whispers she had been hearing for much of the afternoon did not help matters. Whispers concerning Paris' secret childhood. Since their arrival in Troy, there had been a great deal of hushed discussions about Paris' childhood; one that did not involve him growing up in the palace but in a remote area far from the city.

"Will you not come to bed, my love?" Helen called as she rose to a reclined position on the bed.

Paris chuckled mirthlessly, his gaze never wavering from the distant beach. "I doubt very much that I will find any comfort in sleep this night."

"There is no need to be so melancholy. The arrival of the Greeks does not herald our immediate demise," Helen sought to assure him.

With a resounding sigh, Paris turned to face Helen. What she saw startled her for in that moment Paris' ewerewere almost lifeless. There appeared to be no hope left in him and Helen could not conceive of why that should trouble her so. For all her concern, Paris was a means to an end. He was the puppet through which she had given Agamemnon his war with Troy and as such she had never felt more for him than simple lust.

"Have you not heard then?" Paris drawled, some bro brokenly. "I am to fight Menelaus in the morning."

"Fight Menelaus?" Helen gasped as she rose up onto her knees, staring at Paris with wide eyes. "Why are you going to fight Menelaus? There is no need for you to do such a thing. He is a warrior, you are not. It will only end in your death, my love."

"Your confidence astounds me," Paris smirked, throwing himself bonelessly upon a nearby chaise.

"I am merely startled that you would do such a thing," Helen amended quickly. "Why would you risk yourself so?"

Paris scrubbed his hands up into his hair, mussing up the already disarrayed curls. "Because love is worth the risk."

~*~*~

The next morning Achilles stood on a high hilltop overlooking the flat plain before the walls of Troy. There was only a small distance separating the two armies and in that space were four riders. The Greek kings, Agamemnon and Menelaus, and two men Achilles took to be the Trojan princes, Hector and Paris. Achilles was too far away to see any of them clearly, but there was no mistaking their gestures. The broader of the two princes had refused whatever offer Agamemnon had just put forth.

The immediate call to arms Achilles had been expected did not occur. Rather the smaller of the two princes, likely the seducer Paris, was darting forward and shouting something at the retreating back of Menelaus.

In short order, only Menelaus and the young prince were left standin tin the brink between the two armies.

"What is happening, cousin?" Patrolcus asked, his voice a hushed whisper despite their distance from the coming battle. Their ship was being readied to sail and in short order they would depart from Troy, but in the meantime Achilles was content to watch the upcoming duel.

Achilles nodded his head towards the circling men, raising a hand to scratch idly at his temple. "It seems that Prince Paris has decided to act the part of a man and fight Menelaus for the woman he stole."

What Achilles saw next caused his heart to clench within his chest.

"Cousin, the prince...."

Prince Paris fought as he did. The same graceful twists and thrusts. Identical attacks. Movements that belonged to Achilles himself and that he had taught to but two men. One stood at his side, the other....

"Alexandros," Achilles gasped, starting forward when he saw his lover knocked to the ground. Menelaus struck at his head, and the blow would have connected had Alexandros not rolled out of the way. "Stay here!" Achilles shouted at his cousin, already charging down the hillside.

"Cousin?"

"Stay here!" Achilles repeated as he sped up. He was desperate to get to Alexandros before Menelaus did him any serious harm, Agamemnon and his war be damned.

Despite the lessons Achilles had given to him, Alexandros was slight and unused to battle. The boy was a shepherd and not the warrior his elder brother was. Still, Alexandros fought valiantly, defending himself against Menelaus' assault.

Until his thigh was slashed open by Menelaus' sword.

"'Xandros!" Achilles bellowed, his voice lost among the cheers of the soldiers from both armies. "Alexandros!"

Achilles kept only half of his attention on his path, the bulk of it focused on his beloved who was struggling doggedly to his feet. Blood was staining his leg red, but still Alexandros fought to regain his footing as Menelaus bore down upon him.

In the end, it proved to be too much for Alexandros. Overwhelmed and overpowered, Alexandros scrambled on hands and knees to his brother, clutching at his calf as he collapsed into the dirt. His sword lay forgotten at Menelaus' feet. Achilles was still too far away to hear the exact words that were spoken between Hector and Menelaus, but there was no mistaking the conversation that passed between them. Menelaus meant to kill Alexandros while Hector would do what he could to spare his brother's life.

Things were decided when Menelaus stepped too close and Hector pressed the tip of his sword to the king's breast. In the time between when Achilles looked away to check his footing and when he turned back, the point of Hector's sword had passed through Menelaus and stood sticking from his back.

Achilles lost sight of what followed as he came to the bottom of the hill and now stood at the back of the Greek army.

~*~*~

Paris stumbled along beside his brother, attempting to place as little pressure on his left leg as possible. He felt like an absolute coward for having gone crawling to Hector when he should have faced Menelaus like a man even if it meant his death.

"The sword," Paris gasped, pulling himself away from Hector. "I have to get the sword."

Before Hector could stop him, Paris was staggering back to where he had dropped his father's sword. The centuries old weapon, a symbol of their kingdom, could not fall into Greek hands. His father had entrusted the sword to him and he would not return under the doubled disgrace of having taken the coward's way out of his fight with Menelaus and also having lost the sword.

Paris took a wrong step and his injured leg gave out beneath him. He was within reach of the sword at that point and crawled forward the few paces necessary to grasp the hilt. His fingers had just barely curled around the well worn grip when Paris was hauled to his feet by strong arms latching under his armpits.

"You should have left it behind," Hector growled in his ear as he dragged him bodily towards the safety of the Trojan army. "It was not worth your life."

Paris said nothing, but did his best to regain his footing so that Hector was not burdened his supporting him entirely. Before long there was a crush of people surrounding them. Soldiers rushing forward to do battle with the oncoming Greek army.

"Get him into the palace!" Hector shouted and Paris found himself being handed off to another soldier.

In the next instant Hector was gone, joining his men in battle as Paris knew he should. Instead, he was being more or less carried behind the city walls to safety. A safety that Paris did not feel he deserved. The war was his fault and he should have been out there with Hector defending their home.