The end is near.
Title: Beloved ~ Chapter Fifty-three
Author: Sel selene_vidae
Pairing: Apollo/Paris, Hector/Paris and a smattering of others.
Summary: What if all that we believed to have been true - was not?
Rating: PG13-NC17.
Disclaimer: These characters belong to history, to myth, to legend. I make absolutely no money from this and live off on my reviewers' love.. *flutters eyelashes prettily* Some dialogue taken directly from film but twisted to suit my needs. Some descriptions taken from the first draft of the movie's screenplay.
Feedback: Aye? Nay? What say you?
Previous Chapters: Prologue, Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four, Chapter Five, Chapter Six, Chapter Seven, Chapter Eight, Chapter Nine, Chapter Ten, Chapter Eleven, Chapter Twelve, Chapter Thirteen, Chapter Fourteen, Chapter Fifteen, Chapter Sixteen, Chapter Seventeen, Chapter Eighteen, Chapter Nineteen, Chapter Twenty, Chapter Twenty-one, Chapter Twenty-two, Chapter Twenty-three, Chapter Twenty-four, Chapter Twenty-five, Chapter Twenty-six, Chapter Twenty-seven, Chapter Twenty-eight, Chapter Twenty-nine, Chapter Thirty, Chapter Thirty-one, Chapter Thirty-two, Chapter Thirty-three, Chapter Thirty-four, Chapter Thirty-five, Chapter Thirty-six, Chapter Thirty-seven, Chapter Thirty-eight, Chapter Thirty-nine, Chapter Forty, Chapter Forty-one, Chapter Forty-two, Chapter Forty-three, Chapter Forty-four, Chapter Forty-five, Chapter Forty-six, Chapter Forty-seven, Chapter Forty-eight, Chapter Forty-nine, Chapter Fifty, Chapter Fifty-one, Chapter Fifty-two
Manip courtesy of my lovey, punk_pony
FOR THOSE WHO NEVER GAVE UP HOPING. Thank you. I am humbled.
Beloved is the story of the men and women, mortals and immortals of the Trojan War. It speaks of love, war, betrayal, hope, life, and death. In the previous chapters, we've seen Alexandros, beloved of Apollo, seek his destiny and find it in Hector's arms as Paris, Prince of Troy. We've seen Helen brought to Trojan shores due to the machinations of three spurned goddesses. We've seen war following close behind with Agamemnon and Menelaus leading a thousand Greek ships. We've seen Achilles, Odysseus and a dozen other Greek heroes enter battle in the name of glory and destiny. We've seen hundreds of men die for the causes they held dear, the most familiar names being Ajax, Patroclus and yes, Hector. We've seen signs foreshadowing the end of the Trojan war.
And now, it is upon us.
Chapter Fifty-three
Deiphobus watched billowing clouds of smoke tower higher and higher, obscuring the brilliant night sky that he had taken wonder in only moments before. It was the same sky he had offered his words of gratitude to, gratitude that was given too early in the face of the destruction that came upon them now.
“The armory.”
He turned to see Hipponous walk towards him, his brother dressed in full armor, a sword in one hand and a shield in the other.
Deiphobus’ gaze was drawn back to the sight past the open balcony doors as a thundering roar was heard, the sound coming from a collapsing building. “I know.”
Hipponous’ frown was more felt than seen. “Our soldiers are without weapons.”
“The weapons would have done them no good. The effects of the wine would have rendered the sharpest spear useless in their hands.” Deiphobus paused before asking, “Did you see the Greeks release the horses out onto the streets?”
“Yes. I was expecting it.”
Deiphobus murmured, “Our people are at the mercy of our steeds’ hooves.” His voice was bleak, harsh - it would have been grieving if there had been time to grieve.
“Better at their mercy than the mercy of the Greeks’ swords,” Hipponous countered.
“And chains,” came another voice.
They turned to see Antiphus coming towards them, limping but prepared for battle. “Brothers, what do you wait for? The boatman?”
Deiphobus and Hipponous shared a look, grim smiles coming onto their faces before they shook their heads.
“No, we were waiting for you. What took you so long to gather your weapons?” Hipponous asked, his lips curving upwards slightly.
Antiphus only laughed, his brothers joining him a heartbeat later, a moment of levity shared in the midst of all the chaos and turbulence that surrounded them.
“Where are the others?”
Antiphus’ face darkened at that. “I sent Helenus to our sisters while Pammon and Polites hastened to the courtyard as soon as the first stirrings of trouble began. They brought their guard. I have not heard word from them since.”
A brief flash of pain made itself known but there was no time for grief. What little time they had left would be spent on more worthwhile matters.
Deiphobus gripped his sword more tightly, nodding once. “Come then, brothers. We defend this palace, Troy and our family for as long as we can.”
“We have to give our sisters and mother time to escape,” Hipponous added.
“And what of Father?” Antiphus asked quietly.
Shaking his head, Deiphobus led them out of his rooms. “He would not abandon Troy. I spoke to him and begged him to leave but he made his way to the shrine of Zeus within this palace.” His voice faltered but soon regained its strength, his gaze meeting that of his brothers, “He told us to help as many as we could.”
All three were silent for a moment, this moment all the time they had to think of their loved ones, the days they themselves would no longer see, the final journey to the Elysian Fields. One moment was all they made use of - the rest of their moments were already accounted for.
“We live and fight for Troy till our last breaths, brothers.”
“Our last breaths,” came the resolute reply.
***
“Is anyone still here? Anyone?” Paris called out, bringing his hand to his mouth as he stifled the coughs that all but the wracked his form, the reason for his coughs being the thick smoke that permeated the air. The smoke made it hard to see clearly and Paris was left peering through the haze that lingered ever present. His eyes were already watering but he persisted, checking every open doorway for people that had been left behind.
“Is anyone still here?” he called out again. When no one answered, he ran back down the hallway and down the stairs that led to a side entrance of the palace. He was nearly trampled by a panicking horse, and he barely threw himself out of the creature’s way.
Coughing harder, Paris gripped the sword he held more tightly, his free hand reaching behind him to ensure that his bow and quiver were still strapped to his back. Once this was done, he ran down the narrow side street he found himself on, calling out to people he came across and urging them to flee ahead of him towards the palace’s lower gardens. It was mostly women and children that he came across, some youths with spears that Paris ordered to protect the women and children.
He hurried them along, mindful of soldiers, and he offered his thanks to Apollo when they reached the hidden door in the gardens with no trouble. There were Helen and Briseis waiting for him, the rest of the womenfolk missing - he assumed they had gone ahead.
He hoped they had gone ahead. They could not afford to lose any more time.
Helen all but threw herself at him the moment he was close enough to reach, her slender arms going around his neck and holding tight, her form trembling against his as she whispered, “You took so long and I was so worried that something had happened to you.”
Paris embraced her with one arm and for a moment---
For just one moment, he allowed himself to think of how different it might have been if he had loved her. He gave himself that briefest instant to imagine what it would have been like to hold her as a lover.
But out of the corner of his eye, he could see Briseis urging people to go down the steps where one of the Princesses would show them where and how much farther to go. He could hear screams, feel the heat, smell the acridness of smoke and burning flesh.
The moment slipped away because it was not even there in the first place.
Gently pushing Helen away, Paris met her eyes and shook his head, saying softly but firmly, “Helen, we must get these people to safety.” He did not have to mention duty and sacrifice because those were words now engraved into their beating hearts.
Helen breathed in deeply, as if to steady herself, and she coughed upon inhaling the smoke but quickly got her bearings back. She did not spare Paris another glance as she went and offered her aid to Briseis.
It was not long before they were making their way through the palace’s underground recesses, the torches they held lighting their way. Paris stopped by the mouth of the escape tunnel’s entrance, brow furrowed as he watched people hurry past him.
“There are so few of them.”
He turned to see Ilione standing behind him. “Where is Mother?”
“I sent her down the tunnel with Helenus, Creusa, Andromache and the babes,” his eldest sister murmured, an indecipherable expression upon her lovely face. “Paris, there are so few of them.”
Paris reached out to gently grasp her shoulders, having her meet his eyes as he whispered fiercely, “It does not matter if we save ten or a thousand, as we long save them.”
Ilione’s lovely face was marred with the grief and sorrow but the determination to survive and live on that Paris likewise saw within her eyes was the most beautiful thing he had come across in the gloom of this place. “And save them we will, brother,” she finally replied.
They embraced briefly and Paris could not help but wonder if she knew what his plans were. She held him tightly enough to hint at that, but then she was pushing him away, nodding once before entering the tunnel, urging the refugees to hurry.
“Paris!”
He turned at Briseis’ panicked voice and he hurried over to them. His eyes widened when he came upon Aeneas’ wounded form being held up by a young man. “Aeneas,” he whispered. “Aeneas, how did you come by this place?”
Aeneas’ eyes were glassy from pain, his brow smeared with dirt and sweat. When he reached out his hand, Paris took it, squeezing it in reassurance. “Paris, Paris… Where are my wife and son?”
“They have gone ahead. They are safe, Aeneas. Safe.”
The relief that Paris saw on his law-brother’s face was absolute. “Good. Then I can return to battle with a lightened heart.” Aeneas struggled to stand on his own, the youth who held him looking worried as the injured man struggled in his secure hold.
“Aeneas, no!”
They all started at Paris’ vehement reply, Aeneas looking at him in confusion, the others in surprise.
“No, Aeneas. You will not go back. You will leave with the refugees and take them to safety.” Paris’ voice was firm and resolute and even as Aeneas began his protests, he shook his head. “No. You will go with them.”
He glanced at the sword he held in his hand before handing it over, Aeneas having no other choice than to take it with his free hand. “Paris, why are you giving me this?”
“As long as this sword is in the hands of a Trojan, our people have a future.”
“Paris… This is your sword by birth right. I will not take it from you!”
When Aeneas lurched away from the young man who all but kept him from slumping onto the ground, Paris reached out and steadied him. “Aeneas, listen to me.” His voice dropped down to a whisper so that only Aeneas would hear his next words. “You will take this sword and lead our people to safety. You will lead them to a new life and a new beginning.”
Paris pulled away so that their gazes could meet, “That is your destiny, Aeneas. I can feel it to the very depths of my soul. That is your destiny.”
“And what of yours?” Aeneas countered, desperation crowding out the pain in his eyes.
“This is my destiny.”
For a brief instant, it looked as if Aeneas would protest further but the other man merely nodded and murmured, “I will do as you say. Be safe, brother.”
He nodded once before gesturing to the waiting youth to take Aeneas once again. Paris then turned to the two women that looked on anxiously. He embraced Briseis first, who was closer, and sobs spilled out of her because she knew that this was goodbye. She was wise beyond her years in ways like these, in matters of destiny and the gods. That did not stop her from pleading, though. How could it have?
“Cousin, please. Do not leave us. Come with us,” Briseis all but begged, clutching onto his shoulders with a strength that belied her delicate frame.
“Do not cry, Briseis. We will see one another again. I promise.” He pulled away and brushed his lips against her forehead. “Tell my sisters and my mother that I love them. That I am thankful for the time I had with them. I will be you and with them always.” He pushed her away from him, gently but she still stumbled, her hands now clasped to her mouth as she tried to choke down the ensuing sobs.
“My love, please.”
Paris’ eyes drifted shut when Helen’s hands cradled his face. His hands curled around her wrists as his eyelashes fluttered open, a bittersweet smile lingering on his lips. “I am sorry for never being the man that you wanted me to be. If it were possible---”
She shook her head, hushing him as her thumb traced the outline of his lips. “No, no. Do not apologize. I would not change anything. If I could go back, I would not choose differently. I would love you still.”
There was a plea in her eyes, different from the one in Briseis’ and Paris was glad that this was one plea he could answer. He leaned forward and their lips met, kissing her as he would have kissed her in another life, in another time and place. He kissed her as if they were all that mattered.
His cheeks were wet when they broke apart and he could not tell if they were his tears or hers.
“Go,” he whispered and despite the softness of it, his voice carried through the still, heavy air. There was a finality to it that could not and would not be denied.
The last thing they saw before he closed the bronze-banded door was the serene smile on his face.
***
The reception hall of the palace was empty save for the fifty or so Trojan soldiers that waited calmly in its interior. There came a furious hammering from the large doors opposite them, Greek battle cries heard over the sound of screaming. Despite this, the soldiers stood their ground, unflinching and stoic amidst the certainty of death.
They knew what was waiting for them on the other side.
Glaucus walked amongst the men, clasping hands with each soldier. He turned when Paris entered the hall through a hidden entrance, bow in hand. “My Prince.”
“Have you seen my brothers?”
The battle-hardened warrior shook his head, regret lacing his tone as he answered, “No, your Highness. I have not seen them.”
Paris’ breath hitched but his words were, “No, it is all right, Glaucus. I know where they are.” He smiled, his chin tilting up determinedly. “They do what is right. They are protecting our people.” His voice did not waver as he said those words.
“Rightly so, your Highness.”
The steady hammering intensified and the bronze bar laid across the doors buckled, every man’s attention drawn to it.
Glaucus went to stand before his men and cried out, “All of you men are soldiers. Leading you has been my life’s honor.”
The doors shuddered from the intensity of the blows inflicted on it.
“The boatman is waiting for us. I say, let him wait a little longer!”
The men roared their agreement as the doors finally burst open and Greek soldiers spilled into the reception hall. The two forces met in the clash and clang of sword and shield and spear, Paris standing some distance away as he fired arrow after arrow, not missing a single target. The Greeks were driven back. For this brief, brief moment, they were driven back but the superiority of numbers began to tell and the Trojans were eventually pushed backwards.
Crying out, Paris tried to warn Glaucus but it was too late - the general was cut down and the Trojans that were left standing were forced to retreat farther and farther into the palace’s recesses.
Paris raced through the otherwise empty halls, separated from the other Trojan soldiers. He was headed towards the shrine of Zeus because Deiphobus told him that their father was there.
Deiphobus who was bleeding heavily from numerous wounds but who still leapt into the fray when Greeks entered the meeting hall.
Deiphobus who all but ordered him to find their father.
Paris sent out a silent prayer for his brother as he continued down the dim passageways.
Upon reaching the shrine, Paris burst through the doors, shooting down the Greeks that he found looting the god’s treasures. He was about to call out for his father but the still figure lying in a pool of blood in front of the altar had him stumbling. Hurrying forward, he dropped onto his knees beside his father’s bloody figure and let out a grief-ridden scream.
***
“Your Highness! We must leave the palace grounds! There is a tunnel that will lead to safety! Your Highness!”
Melina glanced behind her at the barred door, before turning once again to the kneeling Princess. “Cassandra, please. We must leave. It is not safe here.”
The only remaining Trojan Princess within the Trojan walls shook her head, her eyes fixed on the statue of the goddess Artemis. “She will protect us.”
“And if she does not?” Melina countered.
“Then, such is the will of the gods.”
Melina pursed her lips, the hand that gripped the spear she held shaking only slightly. She could have left the Princess - she could have.
But she did not. Cassandra was not only her Princess or her charge. Cassandra was Melina’s life and her life would be willingly given up for the other woman.
Such an oath was tested when the door was kicked open, Melina raising the spear in a defensive position as several Greek soldiers entered. Her eyes flashed when she caught sight of the lecherous gazes they cast on the still-kneeling Princess. She stood before Cassandra and spit out, “You will not taint us with your filth, Greek scum.”
The men laughed.
“The pretty, little nursemaid thinks she can best us?”
“Perhaps we should show her what to do with a real spear.”
There was more laughter as the Greek that spoke crudely grabbed his crotch. Melina’s eyes narrowed and she screamed out her fury and sorrow before driving her spear into the man’s groin, relishing in the sound of his pained scream. She tossed aside the spear and brought out a long knife, slashing furiously as they advanced. She held her own for several moments, killing one and injuring others, but in the end, they were upon her. She fought to the bitter end, scratching and biting and screaming till a sword was plunged into her heart.
The entire time Cassandra stayed where she was, eyes fixed upon the marble statue of the silent goddess.
***
There was fire everywhere, raging as houses, buildings, lives were destroyed. Smoke filled the night sky, blocking out the stars and perhaps even the eyes of the gods. For in this moment, all of Troy appeared godless.
Paris stood in one of the upper-level courtyards, eyes fixed on the destruction being reaped upon the City that he had only recently discovered but had always loved. Loved with that part of him where Troy dwelt, loved with every drop of his blood that flowed within him.
To see Troy suffer such disgrace - his heart hurt with every beat. He did not think it possible to hurt anymore, not with his father’s blood staining his tunic, his brothers’ war cries ringing in his ears, the taste of Briseis’ tears upon his tongue. But it was.
The ache in his heart expanding to a wordless agony.
This was his, their Beloved Troy.
Sounds of fighting filtered through his thoughts and he turned his gaze to the courtyard below him, his heart stuttering before starting in a frantic, fierce rhythm when he recognized the two figures fighting.
Hipponous.
Achilles.
His brother was bloodied and weary but so, so resolute. There was this determination that laced every swing and thrust of his sword, every parry and lunge. Paris’ eyes could not leave their dueling forms and silently, he hoped and pleaded that he would not have to watch another brother die.
So it was with widened eyes and a choked gasp that he witnessed Hipponous stumble, Achilles driving his sword into his brother’s body. Paris covered his mouth to stop his scream from slipping free because it was another brother he saw, another sort of pain that lanced through his body and reverberated all throughout.
When he lifted his eyes from Hipponous’ still form, his gaze met that of Achilles’ and held it.
Author: Sel selene_vidae
Pairing: Apollo/Paris, Hector/Paris and a smattering of others.
Summary: What if all that we believed to have been true - was not?
Rating: PG13-NC17.
Disclaimer: These characters belong to history, to myth, to legend. I make absolutely no money from this and live off on my reviewers' love.. *flutters eyelashes prettily* Some dialogue taken directly from film but twisted to suit my needs. Some descriptions taken from the first draft of the movie's screenplay.
Feedback: Aye? Nay? What say you?
Previous Chapters: Prologue, Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four, Chapter Five, Chapter Six, Chapter Seven, Chapter Eight, Chapter Nine, Chapter Ten, Chapter Eleven, Chapter Twelve, Chapter Thirteen, Chapter Fourteen, Chapter Fifteen, Chapter Sixteen, Chapter Seventeen, Chapter Eighteen, Chapter Nineteen, Chapter Twenty, Chapter Twenty-one, Chapter Twenty-two, Chapter Twenty-three, Chapter Twenty-four, Chapter Twenty-five, Chapter Twenty-six, Chapter Twenty-seven, Chapter Twenty-eight, Chapter Twenty-nine, Chapter Thirty, Chapter Thirty-one, Chapter Thirty-two, Chapter Thirty-three, Chapter Thirty-four, Chapter Thirty-five, Chapter Thirty-six, Chapter Thirty-seven, Chapter Thirty-eight, Chapter Thirty-nine, Chapter Forty, Chapter Forty-one, Chapter Forty-two, Chapter Forty-three, Chapter Forty-four, Chapter Forty-five, Chapter Forty-six, Chapter Forty-seven, Chapter Forty-eight, Chapter Forty-nine, Chapter Fifty, Chapter Fifty-one, Chapter Fifty-two
Manip courtesy of my lovey, punk_pony
FOR THOSE WHO NEVER GAVE UP HOPING. Thank you. I am humbled.
Beloved is the story of the men and women, mortals and immortals of the Trojan War. It speaks of love, war, betrayal, hope, life, and death. In the previous chapters, we've seen Alexandros, beloved of Apollo, seek his destiny and find it in Hector's arms as Paris, Prince of Troy. We've seen Helen brought to Trojan shores due to the machinations of three spurned goddesses. We've seen war following close behind with Agamemnon and Menelaus leading a thousand Greek ships. We've seen Achilles, Odysseus and a dozen other Greek heroes enter battle in the name of glory and destiny. We've seen hundreds of men die for the causes they held dear, the most familiar names being Ajax, Patroclus and yes, Hector. We've seen signs foreshadowing the end of the Trojan war.
And now, it is upon us.
Chapter Fifty-three
Deiphobus watched billowing clouds of smoke tower higher and higher, obscuring the brilliant night sky that he had taken wonder in only moments before. It was the same sky he had offered his words of gratitude to, gratitude that was given too early in the face of the destruction that came upon them now.
“The armory.”
He turned to see Hipponous walk towards him, his brother dressed in full armor, a sword in one hand and a shield in the other.
Deiphobus’ gaze was drawn back to the sight past the open balcony doors as a thundering roar was heard, the sound coming from a collapsing building. “I know.”
Hipponous’ frown was more felt than seen. “Our soldiers are without weapons.”
“The weapons would have done them no good. The effects of the wine would have rendered the sharpest spear useless in their hands.” Deiphobus paused before asking, “Did you see the Greeks release the horses out onto the streets?”
“Yes. I was expecting it.”
Deiphobus murmured, “Our people are at the mercy of our steeds’ hooves.” His voice was bleak, harsh - it would have been grieving if there had been time to grieve.
“Better at their mercy than the mercy of the Greeks’ swords,” Hipponous countered.
“And chains,” came another voice.
They turned to see Antiphus coming towards them, limping but prepared for battle. “Brothers, what do you wait for? The boatman?”
Deiphobus and Hipponous shared a look, grim smiles coming onto their faces before they shook their heads.
“No, we were waiting for you. What took you so long to gather your weapons?” Hipponous asked, his lips curving upwards slightly.
Antiphus only laughed, his brothers joining him a heartbeat later, a moment of levity shared in the midst of all the chaos and turbulence that surrounded them.
“Where are the others?”
Antiphus’ face darkened at that. “I sent Helenus to our sisters while Pammon and Polites hastened to the courtyard as soon as the first stirrings of trouble began. They brought their guard. I have not heard word from them since.”
A brief flash of pain made itself known but there was no time for grief. What little time they had left would be spent on more worthwhile matters.
Deiphobus gripped his sword more tightly, nodding once. “Come then, brothers. We defend this palace, Troy and our family for as long as we can.”
“We have to give our sisters and mother time to escape,” Hipponous added.
“And what of Father?” Antiphus asked quietly.
Shaking his head, Deiphobus led them out of his rooms. “He would not abandon Troy. I spoke to him and begged him to leave but he made his way to the shrine of Zeus within this palace.” His voice faltered but soon regained its strength, his gaze meeting that of his brothers, “He told us to help as many as we could.”
All three were silent for a moment, this moment all the time they had to think of their loved ones, the days they themselves would no longer see, the final journey to the Elysian Fields. One moment was all they made use of - the rest of their moments were already accounted for.
“We live and fight for Troy till our last breaths, brothers.”
“Our last breaths,” came the resolute reply.
***
“Is anyone still here? Anyone?” Paris called out, bringing his hand to his mouth as he stifled the coughs that all but the wracked his form, the reason for his coughs being the thick smoke that permeated the air. The smoke made it hard to see clearly and Paris was left peering through the haze that lingered ever present. His eyes were already watering but he persisted, checking every open doorway for people that had been left behind.
“Is anyone still here?” he called out again. When no one answered, he ran back down the hallway and down the stairs that led to a side entrance of the palace. He was nearly trampled by a panicking horse, and he barely threw himself out of the creature’s way.
Coughing harder, Paris gripped the sword he held more tightly, his free hand reaching behind him to ensure that his bow and quiver were still strapped to his back. Once this was done, he ran down the narrow side street he found himself on, calling out to people he came across and urging them to flee ahead of him towards the palace’s lower gardens. It was mostly women and children that he came across, some youths with spears that Paris ordered to protect the women and children.
He hurried them along, mindful of soldiers, and he offered his thanks to Apollo when they reached the hidden door in the gardens with no trouble. There were Helen and Briseis waiting for him, the rest of the womenfolk missing - he assumed they had gone ahead.
He hoped they had gone ahead. They could not afford to lose any more time.
Helen all but threw herself at him the moment he was close enough to reach, her slender arms going around his neck and holding tight, her form trembling against his as she whispered, “You took so long and I was so worried that something had happened to you.”
Paris embraced her with one arm and for a moment---
For just one moment, he allowed himself to think of how different it might have been if he had loved her. He gave himself that briefest instant to imagine what it would have been like to hold her as a lover.
But out of the corner of his eye, he could see Briseis urging people to go down the steps where one of the Princesses would show them where and how much farther to go. He could hear screams, feel the heat, smell the acridness of smoke and burning flesh.
The moment slipped away because it was not even there in the first place.
Gently pushing Helen away, Paris met her eyes and shook his head, saying softly but firmly, “Helen, we must get these people to safety.” He did not have to mention duty and sacrifice because those were words now engraved into their beating hearts.
Helen breathed in deeply, as if to steady herself, and she coughed upon inhaling the smoke but quickly got her bearings back. She did not spare Paris another glance as she went and offered her aid to Briseis.
It was not long before they were making their way through the palace’s underground recesses, the torches they held lighting their way. Paris stopped by the mouth of the escape tunnel’s entrance, brow furrowed as he watched people hurry past him.
“There are so few of them.”
He turned to see Ilione standing behind him. “Where is Mother?”
“I sent her down the tunnel with Helenus, Creusa, Andromache and the babes,” his eldest sister murmured, an indecipherable expression upon her lovely face. “Paris, there are so few of them.”
Paris reached out to gently grasp her shoulders, having her meet his eyes as he whispered fiercely, “It does not matter if we save ten or a thousand, as we long save them.”
Ilione’s lovely face was marred with the grief and sorrow but the determination to survive and live on that Paris likewise saw within her eyes was the most beautiful thing he had come across in the gloom of this place. “And save them we will, brother,” she finally replied.
They embraced briefly and Paris could not help but wonder if she knew what his plans were. She held him tightly enough to hint at that, but then she was pushing him away, nodding once before entering the tunnel, urging the refugees to hurry.
“Paris!”
He turned at Briseis’ panicked voice and he hurried over to them. His eyes widened when he came upon Aeneas’ wounded form being held up by a young man. “Aeneas,” he whispered. “Aeneas, how did you come by this place?”
Aeneas’ eyes were glassy from pain, his brow smeared with dirt and sweat. When he reached out his hand, Paris took it, squeezing it in reassurance. “Paris, Paris… Where are my wife and son?”
“They have gone ahead. They are safe, Aeneas. Safe.”
The relief that Paris saw on his law-brother’s face was absolute. “Good. Then I can return to battle with a lightened heart.” Aeneas struggled to stand on his own, the youth who held him looking worried as the injured man struggled in his secure hold.
“Aeneas, no!”
They all started at Paris’ vehement reply, Aeneas looking at him in confusion, the others in surprise.
“No, Aeneas. You will not go back. You will leave with the refugees and take them to safety.” Paris’ voice was firm and resolute and even as Aeneas began his protests, he shook his head. “No. You will go with them.”
He glanced at the sword he held in his hand before handing it over, Aeneas having no other choice than to take it with his free hand. “Paris, why are you giving me this?”
“As long as this sword is in the hands of a Trojan, our people have a future.”
“Paris… This is your sword by birth right. I will not take it from you!”
When Aeneas lurched away from the young man who all but kept him from slumping onto the ground, Paris reached out and steadied him. “Aeneas, listen to me.” His voice dropped down to a whisper so that only Aeneas would hear his next words. “You will take this sword and lead our people to safety. You will lead them to a new life and a new beginning.”
Paris pulled away so that their gazes could meet, “That is your destiny, Aeneas. I can feel it to the very depths of my soul. That is your destiny.”
“And what of yours?” Aeneas countered, desperation crowding out the pain in his eyes.
“This is my destiny.”
For a brief instant, it looked as if Aeneas would protest further but the other man merely nodded and murmured, “I will do as you say. Be safe, brother.”
He nodded once before gesturing to the waiting youth to take Aeneas once again. Paris then turned to the two women that looked on anxiously. He embraced Briseis first, who was closer, and sobs spilled out of her because she knew that this was goodbye. She was wise beyond her years in ways like these, in matters of destiny and the gods. That did not stop her from pleading, though. How could it have?
“Cousin, please. Do not leave us. Come with us,” Briseis all but begged, clutching onto his shoulders with a strength that belied her delicate frame.
“Do not cry, Briseis. We will see one another again. I promise.” He pulled away and brushed his lips against her forehead. “Tell my sisters and my mother that I love them. That I am thankful for the time I had with them. I will be you and with them always.” He pushed her away from him, gently but she still stumbled, her hands now clasped to her mouth as she tried to choke down the ensuing sobs.
“My love, please.”
Paris’ eyes drifted shut when Helen’s hands cradled his face. His hands curled around her wrists as his eyelashes fluttered open, a bittersweet smile lingering on his lips. “I am sorry for never being the man that you wanted me to be. If it were possible---”
She shook her head, hushing him as her thumb traced the outline of his lips. “No, no. Do not apologize. I would not change anything. If I could go back, I would not choose differently. I would love you still.”
There was a plea in her eyes, different from the one in Briseis’ and Paris was glad that this was one plea he could answer. He leaned forward and their lips met, kissing her as he would have kissed her in another life, in another time and place. He kissed her as if they were all that mattered.
His cheeks were wet when they broke apart and he could not tell if they were his tears or hers.
“Go,” he whispered and despite the softness of it, his voice carried through the still, heavy air. There was a finality to it that could not and would not be denied.
The last thing they saw before he closed the bronze-banded door was the serene smile on his face.
***
The reception hall of the palace was empty save for the fifty or so Trojan soldiers that waited calmly in its interior. There came a furious hammering from the large doors opposite them, Greek battle cries heard over the sound of screaming. Despite this, the soldiers stood their ground, unflinching and stoic amidst the certainty of death.
They knew what was waiting for them on the other side.
Glaucus walked amongst the men, clasping hands with each soldier. He turned when Paris entered the hall through a hidden entrance, bow in hand. “My Prince.”
“Have you seen my brothers?”
The battle-hardened warrior shook his head, regret lacing his tone as he answered, “No, your Highness. I have not seen them.”
Paris’ breath hitched but his words were, “No, it is all right, Glaucus. I know where they are.” He smiled, his chin tilting up determinedly. “They do what is right. They are protecting our people.” His voice did not waver as he said those words.
“Rightly so, your Highness.”
The steady hammering intensified and the bronze bar laid across the doors buckled, every man’s attention drawn to it.
Glaucus went to stand before his men and cried out, “All of you men are soldiers. Leading you has been my life’s honor.”
The doors shuddered from the intensity of the blows inflicted on it.
“The boatman is waiting for us. I say, let him wait a little longer!”
The men roared their agreement as the doors finally burst open and Greek soldiers spilled into the reception hall. The two forces met in the clash and clang of sword and shield and spear, Paris standing some distance away as he fired arrow after arrow, not missing a single target. The Greeks were driven back. For this brief, brief moment, they were driven back but the superiority of numbers began to tell and the Trojans were eventually pushed backwards.
Crying out, Paris tried to warn Glaucus but it was too late - the general was cut down and the Trojans that were left standing were forced to retreat farther and farther into the palace’s recesses.
Paris raced through the otherwise empty halls, separated from the other Trojan soldiers. He was headed towards the shrine of Zeus because Deiphobus told him that their father was there.
Deiphobus who was bleeding heavily from numerous wounds but who still leapt into the fray when Greeks entered the meeting hall.
Deiphobus who all but ordered him to find their father.
Paris sent out a silent prayer for his brother as he continued down the dim passageways.
Upon reaching the shrine, Paris burst through the doors, shooting down the Greeks that he found looting the god’s treasures. He was about to call out for his father but the still figure lying in a pool of blood in front of the altar had him stumbling. Hurrying forward, he dropped onto his knees beside his father’s bloody figure and let out a grief-ridden scream.
***
“Your Highness! We must leave the palace grounds! There is a tunnel that will lead to safety! Your Highness!”
Melina glanced behind her at the barred door, before turning once again to the kneeling Princess. “Cassandra, please. We must leave. It is not safe here.”
The only remaining Trojan Princess within the Trojan walls shook her head, her eyes fixed on the statue of the goddess Artemis. “She will protect us.”
“And if she does not?” Melina countered.
“Then, such is the will of the gods.”
Melina pursed her lips, the hand that gripped the spear she held shaking only slightly. She could have left the Princess - she could have.
But she did not. Cassandra was not only her Princess or her charge. Cassandra was Melina’s life and her life would be willingly given up for the other woman.
Such an oath was tested when the door was kicked open, Melina raising the spear in a defensive position as several Greek soldiers entered. Her eyes flashed when she caught sight of the lecherous gazes they cast on the still-kneeling Princess. She stood before Cassandra and spit out, “You will not taint us with your filth, Greek scum.”
The men laughed.
“The pretty, little nursemaid thinks she can best us?”
“Perhaps we should show her what to do with a real spear.”
There was more laughter as the Greek that spoke crudely grabbed his crotch. Melina’s eyes narrowed and she screamed out her fury and sorrow before driving her spear into the man’s groin, relishing in the sound of his pained scream. She tossed aside the spear and brought out a long knife, slashing furiously as they advanced. She held her own for several moments, killing one and injuring others, but in the end, they were upon her. She fought to the bitter end, scratching and biting and screaming till a sword was plunged into her heart.
The entire time Cassandra stayed where she was, eyes fixed upon the marble statue of the silent goddess.
***
There was fire everywhere, raging as houses, buildings, lives were destroyed. Smoke filled the night sky, blocking out the stars and perhaps even the eyes of the gods. For in this moment, all of Troy appeared godless.
Paris stood in one of the upper-level courtyards, eyes fixed on the destruction being reaped upon the City that he had only recently discovered but had always loved. Loved with that part of him where Troy dwelt, loved with every drop of his blood that flowed within him.
To see Troy suffer such disgrace - his heart hurt with every beat. He did not think it possible to hurt anymore, not with his father’s blood staining his tunic, his brothers’ war cries ringing in his ears, the taste of Briseis’ tears upon his tongue. But it was.
The ache in his heart expanding to a wordless agony.
This was his, their Beloved Troy.
Sounds of fighting filtered through his thoughts and he turned his gaze to the courtyard below him, his heart stuttering before starting in a frantic, fierce rhythm when he recognized the two figures fighting.
Hipponous.
Achilles.
His brother was bloodied and weary but so, so resolute. There was this determination that laced every swing and thrust of his sword, every parry and lunge. Paris’ eyes could not leave their dueling forms and silently, he hoped and pleaded that he would not have to watch another brother die.
So it was with widened eyes and a choked gasp that he witnessed Hipponous stumble, Achilles driving his sword into his brother’s body. Paris covered his mouth to stop his scream from slipping free because it was another brother he saw, another sort of pain that lanced through his body and reverberated all throughout.
When he lifted his eyes from Hipponous’ still form, his gaze met that of Achilles’ and held it.