HAUNTING MEMORIES
Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I do not own any of the beautiful people from the movie Troy.
WARNING: This is SLASH. Meaning, male/male relationship. Please don't read if you don't approve of such things. The rest of ya's... enjoy.
Note: I've only seen the movie once so far.. the characters might be OoC, but I'll try my best.
Summary: Achilles and Paris meet five years prior to the events of Troy.
CHAPTER 1
Both Achilles and Paris spent many days chasing women. They would love one, then another, and another. The men would proclaim their love to each one, night after night. But the women were not naïve. They saw through the illusion. They saw each man for who he really was: a lost soul trying to drown his memories.
This is their untold story.
Achilles winced as his tired body finally lay down to rest. He had sailed for many days and many nights on his solo trip from Greece to Troy. Many begged to accompany him, but he refused. He did not want to be bothered by some clumsy, narrow-minded soldier. He was much better off alone.
Alone. That's all he ever was. Between the battles and the "glory", he had little time for other, more pleasant things. He wondered if he ever would.
Achilles certainly would not have time for any of that now. He replayed the King's instructions in his head. King Agamemnon wanted land and power, and there were no limits to his greed. What he wanted most, though, was Troy. He felt rage and jealousy at the mere thought of the beautiful, magnificent, powerful kingdom that was Troy. He wanted it for himself. Rather, he wanted to destroy it and show the world who ruled all kingdoms. But Agamemnon was not a fool, and he knew that waging war right away would prove fatal for his soldiers. So, he made other plans.
With much persuasion and promise of wealth and glory, Achilles, the most powerful warrior of Greece, was sent on a mission. He was instructed to kidnap the youngest prince of Troy and take him back to Greece. The two kings would then... negotiate, and if all went as planned, King Priam would get his son back while King Agamemnon would get Troy, or at least command of its troops for starters.
Achilles made himself as comfortable as possible in his makeshift camp and fell into a restless sleep.
Paris crept down the dark streets of his city. Even though the sun had set hours ago, he wore peasant clothes anyway, for he didn't want any late night passersby to recognize him. He walked straight to a secret passage way out of the city that his brother had once shown him. All the while, tried to clear his mind of the events earlier that day.
"Son, you must learn to fight. You must become better than any of those common soldiers. You are royalty," his father had said.
"I have no wish to learn such a craft, father," Paris replied, his voice and face steady. "I shall not kill other men."
"What is a man who cannot fight?" his father reasoned. He loved his son with all of his heart, but things had to be said. "Hector is the finest warrior in all of Troy. You must follow in his footsteps for your own safety!"
"I am not Hector, father! Accept me. Accept me for who I am. I will not conform to the violent customs of this society." With that, Paris charged out of the room and did not look back.
Now, as he got closer to the secret passage way out of the city, he took deep, long breathes with every stride. It was all he could do to keep his anger and frustration from getting the better of him.
Paris swiftly made his way out of the city and was instantly greeted by the refreshing breeze accompanying the familiar splashing of the sea. He came here often, when no one was looking, to clear his mind. He ran toward the shore with a grace and swiftness worthy of a prince. So lost was he in this sudden freedom that he did not feel a pair of eyes watching him.
Achilles woke with a start, his reflexes causing him to nearly destroy a threatening bush. He shook his head to clear his senses and immediately heard light footfalls on sand only steps away. He peered through the brush that surrounded him and saw a dark figure run toward the sea and stop at its edge. Deciding to confront the unwanted stranger in the hopes of scaring him away, Achilles emerged from his hideout.
"I would advise you to return from whence you came, stranger," he said softly, his tone dripping with threat.
Paris whipped around toward the voice. His heart hammered in his chest, being caught so completely off guard. He instantly regained his outward composure and tried to discern the voice's owner. All he could see in the darkness, though, was the outline of a well sculpted figure and moonlit long hair.
"You must be a stranger to these lands, then, for we do not threaten our own people," Paris said in his most smooth and regal voice. "You should hasten to leave. You are not welcome here."
If not for the darkness, Paris would have seen a look of utter shock and rage fill Achilles' face. Never before had a stranger so boldly assaulted him with such words. In three big strides, the blond warrior closed the distance between them.
"Do you know who I am?" he spat venomously, a mere inch from the other's face. "If you do, you are a fool. If you don't, you are an ignorant fool."
Paris held his breath. He suddenly remembered that he didn't bring any weapons. He was about to reply in hopes of catching the man off guard and possibly buying more time to think when they both heard voices a short distance away.
Achilles, thinking quickly, grabbed the stranger, covered his mouth, and dove them both into the protection of the brush. He knew that a confrontation between himself and a larger group of people would result in a battle... which would in turn result in him standing amid a pile of dead bodies. Achilles had no desire to be crowned victor of a worthless fight. As for the stranger... it was too risky to let him walk free.
Paris struggled against the man in vain, for he was completely pinned to the ground. Eventually, though, he lay still and tried to formulate a plan. He could feel the other man's breath on his neck and the heat of his body on top of him. He was going to find out who this unwelcomed stranger was, one way or another.
After what seemed like ages, the voices disappeared and the two men were once again alone. Having been pressed against the other man for so long, Achilles was able to discern that he had thick, perfectly curly hair and a lean yet muscled body. He almost wished for daylight so he could see him properly, but he knew that their little meeting would most probably end in a death. Most of Achilles' "meetings" ended that way. He released his hold on the man and stood.
"Get up," he commanded.
Paris rose to his feet and was instantly met with a sword tip at his neck.
Sooo? What do ya think? Should I continue?