One Little Mistake

ONE LITTLE MISTAKE
Disclaimer: I'm just a poor, slightly psychotic scriptwriter. I don't know or own them, so don't sue me. All'll 'll get is pocket lint.
Beta: Melanie

I pace the tent in fury of motion, snarling in rage and I ignore the silken splendor around me. I grew up in palaces more exotic than this so Agamemnon's pretensions do not impress me. Neither does the king himself though I never mention this. One of my rare moments of tact, I suppose. Not something I am famous for. I am famous, however; the entire Aegean world knows the glory of Achilles. Even Priam shivering behind his walls knows and fears me. As well he should for there is none who can stand against me, my mother saw to that. A Goddess, yes, but as fearful as any woman when it came down to the prophecy. As if even a prophecy could stand against me.

For seven long years we have been here, besieging the mighty walls of Troy and for what? For glory? No, though there is plenty of that. Gold? I sneer. What need do I of gold when my might provides me with all I desire? As the son of a king, I have more than my share of the entity, enough to know how much it bores me. It is none of these things. For seven years my Myrmidons have fought and died before the Trojan army for... a woman!

A woman! I still have trouble with that one. I could barely believe it when Odysseus told me why he sought me out. His ruse worked well, no one suspected that I was not a woman, that my fearful mother in hopes of avoiding the prophecy had hid me. He was cunning and clever; I'll give him that. But still... a woman? I had left with Odysseus only because the insipid chatter in the women's quarters had begun to drive me out of my mind. If not for Patroclus and his silver tongue I would have left long ago.

Thinking of my best friend and lover, my rage dims. He wants to be here and I can never refuse him anything he wants. I promised his father I would bring him home covered in glory and I will, but what triumph is there in fighting for a woman? Ah, but it is the fabled Helen I am told. Beauty to madden the hearts of any man she looks upon; the face that launched a thousand ships. She can look all she wants but I doubt she can stir anything in my heart other than cold contempt. Let Menelaus have her or any other man in the camp, except for Patroclus of course. He will not be caught dead with her.

The man she ran away with, or was kidnapped by, whichever story is currently making the rounds, was another thing entirely. I saw him many times, once in person when Odysseus brought me in secret to Priam's palace, hoping to avert this war. Prince Paris, younger son of Priam and his queen Hecuba. Twin brother of Cassandra, Apollo's priestess. The moment I laid eyes on him I knew I would fight this war, for no other reason than to have this young man.

Dressed in sumptuous blue silk, his dark curls framed a face surely sculpted by a god, he sat next to his father. He allowed his brother to lead in the discussions and merely watched with those fathomless eyes of deep brown. His skin was tanned a light olive from his years as a shepherd on Mount Ida and I burned to touch him, as I still do now. Is his skin as silky as it looked? Is his hair as soft? His twin sister Cassandra resembles him more closely than any siblings I ever saw and I can only regret that such ethereal beauty was wasted on a woman.

Priam offered me one of his daughters if I would not join this war. Get serious. As if any woman in the world was going to compare to this dark eyed, bewitching prince in my eyes. I refused him and left. So now we sit here, year after boring year, fighting a battle so finely balanced it will take the intervention of the gods to see how this one falls. Now there was this new scheme of Odysseus’s that everyone was madly pursuing.

It sounds easy enough. Slip men through the walls and into Priam's palace. Odysseus knew how it was done; he'd done it many times already. It irritated Agamemnon to no end that Odysseus would not share this weakness with him so he could exploit it, but the old fox only insists that he is under the orders of a god. Simple to claim, since it is impossible to prove otherwise but it got Agamemnon off Odysseus’s back.

Once inside, Odysseus would lead them to Helen's quarters. They would slip in, grab the woman and be gone again before anyone was the wiser. Menelaus was all for it. Anythinat gat got his beloved wife back into his bed was fine by him. The man was mad. How can you reason with someone like that? Agamemnon opposed it, of course. He really wanted to destroy Troy: not because of Helen. At least he was honest about that. It is the passage through the Dardanelles he wants. Trade anywhere in the world without having to pay the taxes Troy imposes on everyone who uses the straits. Not to mention the advantages of moving armies anywhere. The thought of it practically makes Agamemnon's mouth water with greed.

Stupid man. They are all stupid. Agamemnon most of all. While he is sitting here playing hero to his brother, his wife is at home making a fool of him. But there was that insane oath they all swore at the wedding and now they have to face what they never expected to have to honor. Serves them right but damned if I am just going to sit here and wait. Battle is what I want. The rage in me drives me to no other end. Only at night when I find solace in Patroclus arms does the rage abate. Now it doesn't even do that. All I can think about while I feel Patroclus shuddering beneath me is that damned prince.

I make another circuit of the tent, my snarling gets louder. No one dares to interfere with me. They are all too scared, as they should be. Even if this crazy scheme of Odysseus’s works there is no way I am just going to go home like a good little boy who has done his chores. I am going to get what I came here for, even though I didn’t know it. I know now and the memory of it will possess me like a fever. Patroclus noticed the change in me a long time ago. He coaxed it out of me with that silver tongue of his while other parts of his body distracted me. He's a fast learner, I noticed. I told him about Paris. Everything. I held nothing back from my dearest friend. He understood, as I knew he would. His arms wrapped around me and he soothed away the fury burning in my soul.

It was his idea to pretend he was Paris when the rage in me could not be controlled. I hurt him badly that night but it worked. From that night for seven years I dreamt of Paris in my arms. Of his slender, muscled body beneath me, his sweet mouth locked to mine. My hands tangled in his dark brown curls, pulling back to reveal the marble column of his neck and leaving my mark on it. On him. Ah! The very thought of it is driving me mad! Nothing in the world could be as overwhelming as this or worth as much. For Paris I will raze Troy to the ground.

A commotion outside the tent heralds the return of Odysseus and his men. By the shouting, their mission has been successful. The rage flowering in my heart doubles and I throw an ornate wooden table across the tent, barely missing Menelaus. Idiot boy. He should know better than to get in my way. I pay no attention to the food and plates that once graced that table. What were they compared to the fury that rages through me? Nothing.

Odysseus leads the way into the tent and Agamemnon rises to his feet with his brother by his side. I can see the man is eager for the first sight of his returned wife and is firmly held back by his brother from the figure being laid on the carpet at their feet. She was wrapped in layers of cotton to prevent her from calling out and she looks to me like a present in need of opening. Menelaus fairly quivers at Agamemnon's side, desperate to reach out and claim her. Obedient to his brother's wishes he remains standing while the men remove the wrappings shrouding the face that launched a thousand ships.

The figure that tumbles from the blankets surprises everyone, even me. Most of all me. I didn’t see it coming. Who did? It was a simple task. Kidnap a woman, smuggle her out of the palace and bring her to the camp. Even an idiot can get this one right. But no golden haired woman rises from the carpet with queenly dignity but the dark eyed beauty of my dreams. For seven years I dreamt about him, longed to possess him and here he is in all of his glory.

Paris gets to his feet awkwardly; his natural grace hampered by his hands bound behind his back and a gag wedged between his teeth. Why the men who were supposed to be kidnapping a woman thought such bonds were necessary, I will never know but at this moment I do not care. The fire within me bursts into new flames and I can feel lust stirring parts of my body that were not invited to this meeting. He is here, just the way I wanted him for so long. Bound, gagged and at my mercy. It takes what little self-control I possess to keep from throwing him to the floor right now and making him mine.

He is held tightly in the grip of two of my Myrmidons, his eyes flash defiantly with no hint of fear on his face. He is undaunted by his kidnapping and the wealth of enemies range against him, all eager for his blood. That'sn thn the shouts start, Menelaus loudest of all. I ignore them, intent on the prince held captive in front of me. His eyes scan the crowded tent and come to rest on me. We lock stares across the room and recognition flares in those adorable, incandescent brown eyes. Irrelevantly I wonder if he gets them from his mother or his father. It doesn't matter.

Paris continues to glare defiantly but I can see his body trembles. A light sweat has broken out over his body, coating his skin with a silken sheen. He snarls behind his gag as Menelaus leaps for his throat, refusing to back down. Not that he can move anyway but I admire the courage behind the gesture. Odysseus struggles for control on Menelaus in time to save the poor fool's life. If he takes another step in Paris's direction, not even his brother would be able to stop me from tearing his throat out. This is it. I am tired of all this nonsense.

"STOP!!" I scream; my voice deafens all within hearing range. Not even the horses outside disobey my command.

The silence that fills the tent is almost worse than the noise was. yoneyone is staring at me like I am a madman, and so what if I am but I am done with this war, done with Troy and, thank the gods, done with Agamemnon. I walk slowly across the tent to the captive prince and stop just before I reach him.

"None of this matters. Not now. Not ever - for me. Do what you will. Continue fighting this war or go home and tend your own kims, ms, it is no longer my concern."

I take one more step and place my hand on the slender pale neck of Prince Paris, my fingers close around him in a firm grip. He flinches at my touch and his eyes glint with a hint of fear. I can feel his body shaking and hear the swiftness of his shallow breathing. I gaze into his eyes and smile, and I enjoy the flash of uncertainty, fear and defiance in them. I turn to face the assembled kings. I, the son of a king, am done with this war.

"Do what you will. My people and I are going home. I have my prize."