Changing your stars

Author: Salazar
Rating: nothing much for now, but will be NC-17
Feedback: whatever
Summary: My vision of the Trojan war, nowhere near as good as Homer’s of course. Paris wants his old life back, peace and quiet is all he asks for. Unfortunately, his brilliant plan of kidnapping Helen and then be abandoned didn’t exactly work. Thus the Trojan war commences. Paris feels like a traitor, goes of to fight and tis cis captured by the most kelykely person, Patroclos. What if he gives him to his cousin instead of turning him over to Agamemnon?
Eventually A/P (god, I love that pairing.) btw: summary sucks, story’s better.


Prologue.

Paris of Troy. Hm, it’s funny isn’t it? Only two months ago, I was Paris the shepherd, or rather, Alexandros. Alexandros of Sheep land, Alexander, the king of sheep!

But hey, the gods were bored and they needed someone tay way with. So they just did that, because, who am I to stop them?

So, one moment you’re chasing a sheep, tripping over your own feet every now and then; and the next, you’re sitting in a magnificent palace as one of the princes of the most powerful kingdom of the East. All the food you want, robes for every day of the month and as many jewels as you’re able to carry.
It’s rather different from my other life. Surprising and exciting, or at least, it was.
No, don’t get me wrong, a royal life is fabulous. But I never asked for it. You get everything you want but you have certain responsibilities, which are rather boring. And then there is the fact that everyone expects you to be a hero. You have to be intelligent and cunning in the court and an outstanding, brave warrior on the battlefield.

And that is just not me.

I’m a prince by blood but a farmer by heart. I enjoy the fields at the foot of mount Ida more than the training halls inside the palace.
I have been studying and fighting: Reading scrolls of philosophers and papyrus rolls of the Egyptians. I’ve learned how to wield a sword and a bow. Day in, day out. This was not my idea of growing up. I’m almost seventeen years. And they ask of me to be as smart as Athena herself, and as brave and heroic as the half-god Heracles himself.
I would give everything to be with my herd again, and to see my friends, to tell them I’ve not forgotten them. I’d give everything to live a quiet life.
And yes, I’ve tried: I’ve dropped precious cups, I broke many of my brother’s lances, I’ve even acted much dumber than I really am. And all the while my father and Hector kept saying: “It’s nothing Paris. Try again.”

Maybe I am ought to do something more extreme. Steal something valuable from Menelaus, king of Sparta, where we are now. Something that’s really precious to him. His wife, for instance. What’s her name? Hera, Hedera or Helen or something like that.
No? Yes? Well, it’s extreme enough. Maybe they’ll abandon me then.
‘You’re in love with her?’ you ask. Well, I cannot deny she is beautiful. Because, by the gods, she is! I just don’t feel that way, get it?…No?…Oh damn it all to hell, I am gay.
There, I’ve said it, just don’t tell rothrothers, or they might start to call me princess Paris.


10 years later

‘Live fast, die young I’d say. Because there is nothing for you to live for. My name is Paris and I am a complete fool.’
The prince of Troy sighed and got up from his throne. His great plan had backfired, that much was obvious. He felt miserable, how much pain had been done by now? His life was worth nothing. Just because he hadn’t like to be a prince, people were suffering and mourning. Paris sighed again.
As he stood leaning against the great walls he could see what his stupidity had caused.
The lands in front of him were true battlefields. Fallen soldiers laying in the sand, unmoving, while others fought above them. Men from both sides were being slaughtered and then robbed of their armour. People died because of him, because he was foolish enough to think that taking Helen with him would’ve rid him of the status of Prince. Just for a name, and Helen of course, men were dying, leaving wives without heir husbands, children without their fathers. t tht the Trojans had not told him to go, instead all of them had sworn to fight for the honour of Paris and his city. For the honour of his wife, a wife he didn’t even want.
Paris looked over the battlefield and his eyes followed his brother Hector while he spread death among the Greeks. Next to him, Trojans were suffering, dying. For his honour…
Something changed inside Paris. He was here, they were out there, why? He would have to fight for his honour, not they. He turned around abruptly and strode towards the door.
“Paris, my boy” it sounded suddenly “where are you going?”
The prince stopped in his tracks and turned around, facing King Priam. “I’m going out…father.” He added quickly.
The old king looked surprised: “And what are you going to do outside?”
Paris remained silent as he weighed his words carefully. But at last, he settled for the direct approach, he always liked shocks.

“I’m going to fight.”

The reactions were predictable. His father had stood up more swiftly than his rheumatism would normally allow him, his mother and sisters had gasped loudly, and Helen had thrown herself at his feet. Silly woman.
“You don’t have to go Paris.” Priam said with a pained face.
“Why not?” The prince retorted defiantly.
“You are too young my son.”
“Too young?! I’m nearly twenty seven winters!”
The king sighed and sat back down.
“Father,” Paris continued calmly “Hector has been fighting since he was eighteen. I am nearly ten years older now.”
Priam looked at him tiredly: “What would you do out there?”
Paris gazed thoughtfully at his father and then responded: “I would defend my honour.”
The old king chuckled: “Honour and glory, so like your brother Hector. A wild spirit you possess. Go, and ask for the goddess’ blessing.” Paris smiled and turned around, intending to go to his chambers, but noted that there was something heavy attached to his leg, in other words, Helen.
“No, my love, don’t go!” she sobbed “what would you do out there?” Paris sighed and slowly detached her from his leg.
“I would fight for you.” He whispered softly and stoop up, stroding confidently to the door. But Helen let out a loud sob and took his hand swiftly.
“But Paris” she wailed “you can’t go! You can’t even fight. You’re terrible!”
Almost immediately she let him go and clasped her hand in front of her mouth. “I’m sorry,” she whispered “I’m sorry…” Paris turned around and pointed to her seat.
“Sit,” he said slowly, every syllable shaking with anger, “and watch. I might be terrible, but I am no coward. If you won’t let me defend your honour, then I will defend my own.”
With that, he walked away briskly leaving a shocked Helen behind. He could faintly hear Priam speaking to her: “Rest easy, my child, he will be back within an hour.”
“I will not!” Paris yelled slamming the door behind him.


Notes: In my story, Paris is seventeen in the beginning, because when the actual story begins, he’s ten years older (that would mean the tenth year of the war). And if I let him be twenty seven in the prologue, he’d be thirty seven in the story, which is way too old. J
There’ll be more, I promise, I don’t ask for reviews before I write another chapter, although they would be nice.
I only ask for patience, because I am a very slow writer.
And this part is just to taunt you all: school’s over for me !!!!!! yay!!!!!!!


So! this was the first chapter, I think it’s crap, let me know what you think. Flames are not appreciated.

Salazar