Achilles grabbed the hooded figure roughly by the back of the neck as it attempted to sneak through the twilit Myrmidon camp. He dragged it to his tent and flung it unceremoniously in through the curtained doorway.
It staggered a few paces but then turned and face him, drawing itself up, attempting to regain some of the dignity it had lost by it's rather sudden introduction into the tent. Achilles regarded the figure with a sort of grim amusement, standing so he blocked the doorway with his arms folded, looking down at the cloaked stranger.
"So you are Achilles," it spoke. It's voice was high, dignified, with no trace of fear and far, far too young. "The supposed goddess-favoured, unvanquishable warrior."
"And you are Paris," Achilles said with a low growl. "The youngest son of King Priam of Troy. What are you doing here, Prince?"
"I have come here to talk with King Menelaus, proclaim my love, have him take his revenge on me. I will appeal to his decency, prevent him from continuing with this needless siege." He paused. "I can prevent any more needless Trojan blood to be spilt."
"You're a fool," Achilles replied, harsh and with a knowing tone. Far too young, this rash Trojan prince, to possibly understand what he was doing by walking into the heart of the Greek camp.
Paris stood even straighter, obviously trying to look down on the far taller warrior. He was about to speak but Achilles interrupted.
"I'm curious, young Prince. Let's look on the face that stole the heart of the woman who launched a thousand ships," he stepped forward boldly and flung back the prince's cowl.
Achilles found his breath catching in his throat. For the first time in probably all his life, he found himself caught off-guard. He had heard stories, true, but none had really prepared him. He don't think he'd ever seen a boy look like it. He was momentarily spellbound by the dark, unruly curls of his hair, the softness of his lips, even as they tried to scowl. His eyes were darker than the night, open, passionate, fringed by thick black lashes. And the air of dignity and honour he was struggling to keep in place in his current confines leant such a naïve courage to his expression that the entire effect took it upon itself to startle Achilles, son of the Goddess Thetis, into momentary silence as he just stood and absorbed the sight.
"Now, I suggest you do to me what you brought me in here for, or take me to your King,"
"Menelaus is not my King. Neither is Agamemnon. I have no King," Achilles snarled.
Paris's dark eyes flashed softly in the lamplight. He was brave for one so young, Achilles could see that. But there was something deep in his eyes that betrayed him ever so slightly.
"What is it you thought I brought you in here for, Prince Paris?" Achilles asked with a slow smile.
"To kill me," Paris stated simply, watching Achilles's smile with caution.
Achilles snorted. "Such a cynical and simple attitude, Prince of Troy."
"Well then let me go to Menelaus," he said, moving forward. Achilles moved to block his progress. Paris paused, refusing to rise his eyes, staring intently at Achille's breastplate. "Please move."
"Do you know what Menelaus will really do to you if you go to him?" Achilles asked in a low voice. The young Prince swallowed but did not look up. "He won't listen to you. He will laugh at you," slowly the Princ raised his eyes. "Then he will imprison you,"
Achilles took a step forward, forcing Paris to back up, away from the door. "He will allow his men to taunt you. He will let them beat you. He may even let them…" . Achilles looked down knowingly into the prince's eyes and slowly, deliberately lifted his hand and fingered a tress of the dark curls, just beside his ear. Paris caught his breath. Achilles gave a small, communicative shrug. "He may even take a fancy to you himself,"
Paris's mask was cracking. Achilles was vaguely amused and vaguely saddened to see the fear that he'd tried so hard to conquer begin bleeding through. He could see him fighting the urge not to step away.
Achilles dropped his hand. "Then he will inform your father that you are his captive and will kill you unless Priam hands over Helen and then all of Troy. Your father will be forced to give up his honour, his city and his son. For Menelaus will kill you anyway. And all because you thought you'd be brave."
Paris looked down and swallowed again. There was a pause as he mastered his voice. "That's what's going to happen?"
Achilles was silent.
Paris looked up. "I am prepared to face the consequences of my actions," he said with the slightest tremor in his voice. "I suppose you're expecting me to be thankful to you for telling me what he's going to do to me before you take me to him."
Achilles snorted again before turning his back on the Prince. He went over to the plate of food that had been placed in the corner for him during the day. He drank deeply from the wine, savouring the sweet bite of it. Examining the rest of the food, he selected a leg of roast fowl.
Paris watched him, confused. "You won't take me to the king?"
Achilles ignored him.
"And you aren't going to kill me?"
"Still too early in the day to be killing princes," he stated.
Achilles could almost hear the Prince's thought process, skipping through all their conversation and drawing the inevitable conclusion. He smiled bitterly. Princes always thought the knew soldiers, convinced of their base and vulgar urges. He waited for the response…
"Well what do you…want with me then?"
Achilles turned and locked gazes with Paris. Achilles felt slightly amused to see the courage and fear both fighting to dominate the expression on the Prince's face. He dropped the bone he had been gnawing at. It landed with a clatter on the bronze plate. Achilles walked slowly forward. This time, Paris did back away. Achilles backed him to the pile of furs in the corner that served as his bed. Paris felt it against his heels and could go no further. Achilles stepped up close and stared hard at him. Paris refused to look away, though Achilles could see the fire in his eyes was struggling to stay alive. Achilles place a strong, firm hand on his shoulder and forced him to sit. He felt the poor boy trembling.
It staggered a few paces but then turned and face him, drawing itself up, attempting to regain some of the dignity it had lost by it's rather sudden introduction into the tent. Achilles regarded the figure with a sort of grim amusement, standing so he blocked the doorway with his arms folded, looking down at the cloaked stranger.
"So you are Achilles," it spoke. It's voice was high, dignified, with no trace of fear and far, far too young. "The supposed goddess-favoured, unvanquishable warrior."
"And you are Paris," Achilles said with a low growl. "The youngest son of King Priam of Troy. What are you doing here, Prince?"
"I have come here to talk with King Menelaus, proclaim my love, have him take his revenge on me. I will appeal to his decency, prevent him from continuing with this needless siege." He paused. "I can prevent any more needless Trojan blood to be spilt."
"You're a fool," Achilles replied, harsh and with a knowing tone. Far too young, this rash Trojan prince, to possibly understand what he was doing by walking into the heart of the Greek camp.
Paris stood even straighter, obviously trying to look down on the far taller warrior. He was about to speak but Achilles interrupted.
"I'm curious, young Prince. Let's look on the face that stole the heart of the woman who launched a thousand ships," he stepped forward boldly and flung back the prince's cowl.
Achilles found his breath catching in his throat. For the first time in probably all his life, he found himself caught off-guard. He had heard stories, true, but none had really prepared him. He don't think he'd ever seen a boy look like it. He was momentarily spellbound by the dark, unruly curls of his hair, the softness of his lips, even as they tried to scowl. His eyes were darker than the night, open, passionate, fringed by thick black lashes. And the air of dignity and honour he was struggling to keep in place in his current confines leant such a naïve courage to his expression that the entire effect took it upon itself to startle Achilles, son of the Goddess Thetis, into momentary silence as he just stood and absorbed the sight.
"Now, I suggest you do to me what you brought me in here for, or take me to your King,"
"Menelaus is not my King. Neither is Agamemnon. I have no King," Achilles snarled.
Paris's dark eyes flashed softly in the lamplight. He was brave for one so young, Achilles could see that. But there was something deep in his eyes that betrayed him ever so slightly.
"What is it you thought I brought you in here for, Prince Paris?" Achilles asked with a slow smile.
"To kill me," Paris stated simply, watching Achilles's smile with caution.
Achilles snorted. "Such a cynical and simple attitude, Prince of Troy."
"Well then let me go to Menelaus," he said, moving forward. Achilles moved to block his progress. Paris paused, refusing to rise his eyes, staring intently at Achille's breastplate. "Please move."
"Do you know what Menelaus will really do to you if you go to him?" Achilles asked in a low voice. The young Prince swallowed but did not look up. "He won't listen to you. He will laugh at you," slowly the Princ raised his eyes. "Then he will imprison you,"
Achilles took a step forward, forcing Paris to back up, away from the door. "He will allow his men to taunt you. He will let them beat you. He may even let them…" . Achilles looked down knowingly into the prince's eyes and slowly, deliberately lifted his hand and fingered a tress of the dark curls, just beside his ear. Paris caught his breath. Achilles gave a small, communicative shrug. "He may even take a fancy to you himself,"
Paris's mask was cracking. Achilles was vaguely amused and vaguely saddened to see the fear that he'd tried so hard to conquer begin bleeding through. He could see him fighting the urge not to step away.
Achilles dropped his hand. "Then he will inform your father that you are his captive and will kill you unless Priam hands over Helen and then all of Troy. Your father will be forced to give up his honour, his city and his son. For Menelaus will kill you anyway. And all because you thought you'd be brave."
Paris looked down and swallowed again. There was a pause as he mastered his voice. "That's what's going to happen?"
Achilles was silent.
Paris looked up. "I am prepared to face the consequences of my actions," he said with the slightest tremor in his voice. "I suppose you're expecting me to be thankful to you for telling me what he's going to do to me before you take me to him."
Achilles snorted again before turning his back on the Prince. He went over to the plate of food that had been placed in the corner for him during the day. He drank deeply from the wine, savouring the sweet bite of it. Examining the rest of the food, he selected a leg of roast fowl.
Paris watched him, confused. "You won't take me to the king?"
Achilles ignored him.
"And you aren't going to kill me?"
"Still too early in the day to be killing princes," he stated.
Achilles could almost hear the Prince's thought process, skipping through all their conversation and drawing the inevitable conclusion. He smiled bitterly. Princes always thought the knew soldiers, convinced of their base and vulgar urges. He waited for the response…
"Well what do you…want with me then?"
Achilles turned and locked gazes with Paris. Achilles felt slightly amused to see the courage and fear both fighting to dominate the expression on the Prince's face. He dropped the bone he had been gnawing at. It landed with a clatter on the bronze plate. Achilles walked slowly forward. This time, Paris did back away. Achilles backed him to the pile of furs in the corner that served as his bed. Paris felt it against his heels and could go no further. Achilles stepped up close and stared hard at him. Paris refused to look away, though Achilles could see the fire in his eyes was struggling to stay alive. Achilles place a strong, firm hand on his shoulder and forced him to sit. He felt the poor boy trembling.