Lord, I know I'm definitely risking this. I only saw Troy last night, but alas, on the way home, that stupid thing we call a plot bunny crawled into my head. What if Paris felt so much guilt for Hector's death he had to give himself up? What if there was more than just affection between the brothers: Maybe there was a deep love that no one ever knew about.
Please be kind. This is slash, Paris/Achilles.
Oh, and the whole Briseis (Paris' cousin) thing doesn't happen. She was never captured and she never met Achilles.
Paris couldn't help but cry out in pain as Menelaus slashed his thigh with his sharp blade. Blood ran down his face and leg, dying his tan skin red. His body felt bruised, but he had hardly fought at all!
Strength left him. The young prince of Troy got up, and struggled to stay standing. He remembered the words he had whispered to Hector years ago. "When I die, I shall die at your feet."
They had been spoken during the throes of passion. Yes, though it was forbidden, when the princes were younger, they took pleasure in eachother's bodies. There was nothing wicked about it in their minds; they loved eachother deeply, and when terrible emotions overwhelmed them, they found comfort in eachother.
This sexual relationship ended in a few years. Both had taken an interest in woman, and Hector had fallen in love with Andromache. At first, Paris felt a little hurt. He understood, and now he knew what love could be. Helen held his love, and he would always treasure her.
But those words that he had spoken had been true. Paris and Hector had a tight bond, and Paris would always look up to Hector.
Realizing that this would destroy his pride, but determined to stay to his word, Paris crawled slowly to Hector's feet. When he reached there, he swore he heard a choked sob come from his brother.
Paris gently grasped his ankle. "I will stay true to my word, beloved brother. I am prepared to die at your feet."
Tears streamed down Paris' handsome face as he lay the torch down on the pyre. He stole a last look at his handsome brother's face, and then stepped down from the ladder. Many others were weeping, and he didn't hide his feelings. His heart ached for Andromache, and his heart swelled when he saw Helen trying to comfort Hector's wife.
He did love Helen. She was beautiful, gentle and kind. She had a strong yet lovely spirit that drew him to her. At first it had been for pleasure, as her body was desirable, but that first night together, Paris knew. He knew that much more would escalate.
Their eyes met. She smiled sadly, and Paris thanked her with his pure brown eyes.
Paris' beauty was often talked about, by female and male, but it had always made Paris uncomfortable. The compliments that he received had always made him blush. Hector was the one with glory! He had grown used to being in Hector's shadow all of his life, and now he had a reputation to uphold. But a deep sense of guilt and depression washed over him.
Hadn't he started this war? Hadn't he stolen Helen? Sure, it was mostly about power now, and it was bound to happen, but he had brought it on. Maybe.....if he hadn't stolen Helen.....maybe his brother would still live.
The thought nearly killed him. Hector had died an honorable death to Achilles, but it was still savage and brutal. Paris had never wanted to fight anyone; bloodshed was wrong in his opinion.
Achilles, in his opinion, was the strongest warrior figure in the Greek army. He knew that the army looked up to him, and not the kings. He could end this war, maybe.
A plan began to form in his mind. Maybe he could honor Achilles' greatness with a trade. Maybe, if Achilles approved of it, he could end the war.
A cloaked figure silently made its way down to the Greek camp. It moved with grace and agility, though it limped slightly.
Paris moved quickly and swiftly, looking for Achilles' camp.
After carefully peering in several tents full of sleeping men, Paris finally came upon the great warrior.
Even though Paris felt loathing toward the man, he couldn't help but admit that he was beautiful. Long golden hair spilled down his head and his muscled form took on almost a golden sheen.
"Do not advance on me, stranger. Reveal yourself," came Achilles' smooth, deep voice. He had immediately noticed the person's presence in his tent.
Paris took a shaky breath, and lowered his hood down. He kneeled in front of the warrior and gently took hold of his large hands. He pressed his lips against the rough skin and then spoke.
"Honorable Achilles."
Achilles raised an elegantly formed eyebrow. "Who are you?" he asked, still remaining calm.
Paris raised his head to Achilles. "I am Paris, last remaining prince of Troy. I saw you kill my brother today."
Achilles flinched. Even though fighting was his talent, his strongest point; he still hated killing. The grief and sadness that was in the prince's beautiful eyes tore at his heart.
His voice choked with emotion, Achilles whispered, "What is it you want?"
Paris noticed the turmoil inside of Achilles and it awed him.
"You fought my brother today, Achilles. I saw you kill the one I loved most in my life besides Helen, and yet I have respect for you."
"Respect? As you said, I killed what you held dear and Troy's hope."
"Even enemies respect eachother, Achilles."
This made Achilles grow quiet. "You puzzle me, Prince of Troy."
Paris actually smiled, a sad smile. "I have that affect on many. But, I must get to what I came here for."
"Yes?" Achilles was amazed that he didn't just kill Paris and be done with it. But there had been enough death and despair for one day, he decided.
"I loved my brother and looked up to him. You conquered him, but he fought well. I cannot help but feel guilty for his death. I started this war." Tears threatened to spill from his eyes, and Paris blinked them away.
"Greece was bound to try to fight Troy later on. What you did merely spurred them on."
Paris looked up sharply. "You are wise, Achilles."
Achilles nodded for him to continue.
"I must pay my debt to Greece. I did wrong, terrible wrong. I have lost my pride and have shamed Greece. And I present myself to you."
Achilles just stared at the gorgeous prince. Give himself away? How?
"What? What do you speak of, Paris of Troy?"
"I know that men can delight in the bodies of others. I feel that I do not deserve to live as a prince anymore, and that I should get a taste of cruelty and despair. I never suffered much in my life; it was always Hector."
"I do not want you, Paris." Achilles said, touched by the offer, but angered that he would throw away his life.
Paris went to his knees again. "My lord, please. I know that I am throwing away my life, and Hector would cringe, but I feel I must. I cannot go living knowing that Hector suffered and that I didn't." The prince was now crying silently, and tried not to have Achilles see.
A surprisingly gentle hand cupped his chin and lifted Paris' gaze upward.
"You will completely throw away your title. I would never hurt you, know this, if I accepted your offer."
Paris looked surprised. "You mean, you would not forcefully have me?"
Achilles looked disgusted. "I may be a fighter, but I am no rapist. It's disgusting."
"My apologies." Paris felt a bit more optimistic.
"The other men would not touch you. Your offer is made in good intentions, and I admire that. I would protect you."
"I thank you." Paris was shocked at this unexpected kindness from Achilles. The clear blue eyes of the warrior showed no hostility, only calm.
Many moments of awkward silence followed. Paris knew that Achilles was in deep thought.
"I accept your offer, Paris of Troy. You are to be respected. I will never touch you in a harsh way, and I will see you as a companion."
Paris nodded. He knew that his fortunes were good. Maybe the Gods were watching over him.
Achilles almost tenderly caressed his cheek briefly. "Get some sleep, Paris." The blonde haired man nodded, and lay down to sleep after removing his loose robe.
Paris obeyed and laid down a considerable distance away from his new......master, would he be called?
"I will not harm you, Paris." Achilles sensed his new companion's discomfort. He refused to think of him as a slave. Sure, he had shared pleasure with a few people before, but he would never consider sexual slavery as a legal thing.
Paris felt a bit better. After a few minutes, Achilles' smooth voice drifted over to the former prince.
"Your brother was the best I fought, Paris. I'm sure the gods are with him."
After hearing those words, Paris uttered a small thank you, and let himself sob quietly.
Please don't kill me! I think this is the first Troy slash fic so far! Review!
Helen and Paris' conversation will be in a few chappies. Bye!
Please be kind. This is slash, Paris/Achilles.
Oh, and the whole Briseis (Paris' cousin) thing doesn't happen. She was never captured and she never met Achilles.
Paris couldn't help but cry out in pain as Menelaus slashed his thigh with his sharp blade. Blood ran down his face and leg, dying his tan skin red. His body felt bruised, but he had hardly fought at all!
Strength left him. The young prince of Troy got up, and struggled to stay standing. He remembered the words he had whispered to Hector years ago. "When I die, I shall die at your feet."
They had been spoken during the throes of passion. Yes, though it was forbidden, when the princes were younger, they took pleasure in eachother's bodies. There was nothing wicked about it in their minds; they loved eachother deeply, and when terrible emotions overwhelmed them, they found comfort in eachother.
This sexual relationship ended in a few years. Both had taken an interest in woman, and Hector had fallen in love with Andromache. At first, Paris felt a little hurt. He understood, and now he knew what love could be. Helen held his love, and he would always treasure her.
But those words that he had spoken had been true. Paris and Hector had a tight bond, and Paris would always look up to Hector.
Realizing that this would destroy his pride, but determined to stay to his word, Paris crawled slowly to Hector's feet. When he reached there, he swore he heard a choked sob come from his brother.
Paris gently grasped his ankle. "I will stay true to my word, beloved brother. I am prepared to die at your feet."
Tears streamed down Paris' handsome face as he lay the torch down on the pyre. He stole a last look at his handsome brother's face, and then stepped down from the ladder. Many others were weeping, and he didn't hide his feelings. His heart ached for Andromache, and his heart swelled when he saw Helen trying to comfort Hector's wife.
He did love Helen. She was beautiful, gentle and kind. She had a strong yet lovely spirit that drew him to her. At first it had been for pleasure, as her body was desirable, but that first night together, Paris knew. He knew that much more would escalate.
Their eyes met. She smiled sadly, and Paris thanked her with his pure brown eyes.
Paris' beauty was often talked about, by female and male, but it had always made Paris uncomfortable. The compliments that he received had always made him blush. Hector was the one with glory! He had grown used to being in Hector's shadow all of his life, and now he had a reputation to uphold. But a deep sense of guilt and depression washed over him.
Hadn't he started this war? Hadn't he stolen Helen? Sure, it was mostly about power now, and it was bound to happen, but he had brought it on. Maybe.....if he hadn't stolen Helen.....maybe his brother would still live.
The thought nearly killed him. Hector had died an honorable death to Achilles, but it was still savage and brutal. Paris had never wanted to fight anyone; bloodshed was wrong in his opinion.
Achilles, in his opinion, was the strongest warrior figure in the Greek army. He knew that the army looked up to him, and not the kings. He could end this war, maybe.
A plan began to form in his mind. Maybe he could honor Achilles' greatness with a trade. Maybe, if Achilles approved of it, he could end the war.
A cloaked figure silently made its way down to the Greek camp. It moved with grace and agility, though it limped slightly.
Paris moved quickly and swiftly, looking for Achilles' camp.
After carefully peering in several tents full of sleeping men, Paris finally came upon the great warrior.
Even though Paris felt loathing toward the man, he couldn't help but admit that he was beautiful. Long golden hair spilled down his head and his muscled form took on almost a golden sheen.
"Do not advance on me, stranger. Reveal yourself," came Achilles' smooth, deep voice. He had immediately noticed the person's presence in his tent.
Paris took a shaky breath, and lowered his hood down. He kneeled in front of the warrior and gently took hold of his large hands. He pressed his lips against the rough skin and then spoke.
"Honorable Achilles."
Achilles raised an elegantly formed eyebrow. "Who are you?" he asked, still remaining calm.
Paris raised his head to Achilles. "I am Paris, last remaining prince of Troy. I saw you kill my brother today."
Achilles flinched. Even though fighting was his talent, his strongest point; he still hated killing. The grief and sadness that was in the prince's beautiful eyes tore at his heart.
His voice choked with emotion, Achilles whispered, "What is it you want?"
Paris noticed the turmoil inside of Achilles and it awed him.
"You fought my brother today, Achilles. I saw you kill the one I loved most in my life besides Helen, and yet I have respect for you."
"Respect? As you said, I killed what you held dear and Troy's hope."
"Even enemies respect eachother, Achilles."
This made Achilles grow quiet. "You puzzle me, Prince of Troy."
Paris actually smiled, a sad smile. "I have that affect on many. But, I must get to what I came here for."
"Yes?" Achilles was amazed that he didn't just kill Paris and be done with it. But there had been enough death and despair for one day, he decided.
"I loved my brother and looked up to him. You conquered him, but he fought well. I cannot help but feel guilty for his death. I started this war." Tears threatened to spill from his eyes, and Paris blinked them away.
"Greece was bound to try to fight Troy later on. What you did merely spurred them on."
Paris looked up sharply. "You are wise, Achilles."
Achilles nodded for him to continue.
"I must pay my debt to Greece. I did wrong, terrible wrong. I have lost my pride and have shamed Greece. And I present myself to you."
Achilles just stared at the gorgeous prince. Give himself away? How?
"What? What do you speak of, Paris of Troy?"
"I know that men can delight in the bodies of others. I feel that I do not deserve to live as a prince anymore, and that I should get a taste of cruelty and despair. I never suffered much in my life; it was always Hector."
"I do not want you, Paris." Achilles said, touched by the offer, but angered that he would throw away his life.
Paris went to his knees again. "My lord, please. I know that I am throwing away my life, and Hector would cringe, but I feel I must. I cannot go living knowing that Hector suffered and that I didn't." The prince was now crying silently, and tried not to have Achilles see.
A surprisingly gentle hand cupped his chin and lifted Paris' gaze upward.
"You will completely throw away your title. I would never hurt you, know this, if I accepted your offer."
Paris looked surprised. "You mean, you would not forcefully have me?"
Achilles looked disgusted. "I may be a fighter, but I am no rapist. It's disgusting."
"My apologies." Paris felt a bit more optimistic.
"The other men would not touch you. Your offer is made in good intentions, and I admire that. I would protect you."
"I thank you." Paris was shocked at this unexpected kindness from Achilles. The clear blue eyes of the warrior showed no hostility, only calm.
Many moments of awkward silence followed. Paris knew that Achilles was in deep thought.
"I accept your offer, Paris of Troy. You are to be respected. I will never touch you in a harsh way, and I will see you as a companion."
Paris nodded. He knew that his fortunes were good. Maybe the Gods were watching over him.
Achilles almost tenderly caressed his cheek briefly. "Get some sleep, Paris." The blonde haired man nodded, and lay down to sleep after removing his loose robe.
Paris obeyed and laid down a considerable distance away from his new......master, would he be called?
"I will not harm you, Paris." Achilles sensed his new companion's discomfort. He refused to think of him as a slave. Sure, he had shared pleasure with a few people before, but he would never consider sexual slavery as a legal thing.
Paris felt a bit better. After a few minutes, Achilles' smooth voice drifted over to the former prince.
"Your brother was the best I fought, Paris. I'm sure the gods are with him."
After hearing those words, Paris uttered a small thank you, and let himself sob quietly.
Please don't kill me! I think this is the first Troy slash fic so far! Review!
Helen and Paris' conversation will be in a few chappies. Bye!