Author's Note: I wasn't originally going to end the story this way. As I've said before, I've written this myth out three times now, and with both the former versions I stuck to the traditional ending. This time around, I had an idea that I wanted to try, but as I started posting the story I realized that my ending would not at all have worked. Part of the power of this story comes from its tragic ending, and I would have stripped the romance of all its poignancy if I had gone through with my original idea. So I changed it at the last minute. I hope you approve.

Disclaimer (and inadvertant lecture on Author's Intent): I realize that my characters are really vastly different from the way they're usually portrayed in mythology. I did have a reason for that, though I don't think I got my message across very well; I really wanted to show these famous characters as human beings, not the glorified legends they became. So I made Penthesilea petulant and at times petty and very undignified, and "gifted" Achilles with his depression and apathy (some gift, huh?), and tried to strip away the glory that surrounds their names. I didn't let them use elevated, formal language, and didn't let them act all that nobly most of the time. I tried to create human beings out of the elevated heroes of this story, and hopefully I've done a decent job of that.

Minor Point Disclaimer: I realize that chess didn't exist back in the day. But I don't know much about the games that did exist, so I chose a game that people would be somewhat familiar with.

Ilium, Troy

The city was quiet, drunk with celebration. The symbol of their triumph sat in the town forum, a silent testament to the miracle that had occurred.

The funerary games honoring Queen Penthesilea and her twelve fallen comrades had been completed two days ago. Then a messenger had come to King Priam, telling him the Greeks had sailed home, leaving a wooden horse statue as an offering to Poseidon for a safe journey. Priam had ordered the horse brought into the city, and turned the mourning capital into a city of rejoicing.

As Achilles opened one of the six hatches of the horse, he shook his head at the naivety of the Trojans. They deserved what was about to happen to them, if only for their lack of common sense. But it wasn't his business what happened to the city; he was here for one purpose only.

The events of that horrible afternoon twelve days ago kept replaying in his mind, over and over again. He was drowning in the memory, lost in it.

When he'd pulled his sword, he'd only been going along with Griffarius' plan to wound her, so she would be forced off the battlefield. He would have snuck into the palace under cover of darkness that night, to reveal himself to her and convince her to return with him to Phthia as his bride.

But he had been correct when he guessed that Penthesilea hadn't recognized him, or the charade. Furious, she had lunged forward to incapacitate him-

And had impaled herself on his blade.

"NO!!" he'd screamed, his eyes wide and wild with horror.

Penthesilea had fallen to her knees, gasping for breath and holding her right side, where his sword had gone through. Quickly, Achilles removed her helmet, ripping off his own as he saw her for the first time in the sunlight.

Her waist-length roan brown hair fell around her face and shoulders. Her hazel eyes were glassy with the tears she refused to let fall. She was pale, and shaking, her full lips parted to allow for gasping breaths. Yet she was still the most beautiful woman, mortal or goddess, he had ever laid eyes on.

And she, with her beauty, conquered the conqueror.

"Penthesilea," he whispered.

"Achilles," she gasped in realization, a mewl of pain in the sound, revealing the agony she was in… the agony he had put her in.

He leaned down to kiss her, a silent promise that he would return for her, in this life or the next. She clung to him, her strength failing her as her lifeblood flowed out of her body. A soft sigh left her lips as her eyes unfocused and closed. He held her close to him, cradling her and whispering words of love in her ear, as he'd done only days before under the light of a full moon on the Trojan beach. Too soon, she was gone.

Another soldier, Thersites, jeered. "What's this? Mighty Achilles, weeping like a young girl, over not only an enemy, but a woman at that?"

Achilles hadn't even realized he was crying, but when Thersites spoke, he realized there were tears of rage and pain in his eyes. Slowly, he raised his head, his eyes now snapping with rage. His fist clenched, and before anyone knew what was happening-

The force of the blow was so severe that Thersites' neck snapped. He was dead before he hit the ground.

The battle had ended then, the Trojans and Griffarius' warriors retreating to honorably bury the Amazons, and the Greeks collecting their dead. Achilles had numbly stumbled to his tent, his mind refusing to wrap around the concept that his rightful bride had been killed by his own hand.

Griffarius had come under cover of darkness. Only days ago, Achilles would have killed him without a second thought, his fury with himself adding to the anger at Griffarius' plan failing. But his all-consuming rage had died now, and all he could do was sit silently, staring into space as Griffarius sank into a low-backed chair beside him.

"I'm sorry," Griffarius said, the words awkward on his tongue. "I should have told her who you were. I should have known that the battlelust would overpower her reason."

"Why didn't you?" Achilles asked numbly, pouring himself more wine.

"Because I wanted to watch the fight," Griffarius admitted. "And because I thought she'd be smart enough to realize who you were; I told her you would challenge her."

"But you didn't bother to tell her who I really was," Achilles said, his emotionless voice somehow more powerful than if he had been screaming. "In all of your manipulations and all of your plans, you never for a moment stopped to consider that she might have made plans of her own."

"I knew she wanted to die," Griffarius said. "But I'd thought that after she found you she would come to her senses."

"She's not- she wasn't a puppet on your strings, Griffarius," Achilles said, unable to put any emotion in the words. "But you spent her entire life manipulating her and moving her where you wanted, like she was a pawn on a chessboard."

"She wasn't my pawn," Griffarius said. "She was my knight. Best piece on the board. And if I manipulated her, it was because I knew she would never do what I needed if I asked her outright. She had to be pushed into it."

Achilles rolled his eyes. "Listen to yourself, you sound like all of this was a game. That she was nothing but a piece to be moved around as you willed, no matter what she wanted or what the cost. Did you care about her at all?"

"Of course I did," Griffarius replied. "I trusted her. Why do you think I asked her to come here? I knew that no matter the problems between us, she would support me."

Achilles hunched over, resting his forearms on his thighs, staring into space as he absently swirled the wine in his goblet. Griffarius watched him, taking in how empty and lifeless the famed warrior now was, and cursing himself for letting his plan go so horribly awry.

"What will you do now?" Griffarius asked.

"Get myself killed in battle. What else is left for me?" Achilles asked bleakly.

"There are Hippolyta, Caystrius and Otrerion," Griffarius replied.

Achilles furrowed his brow and turned to look at Griffarius. "Your children?"

"They're not mine, Achilles," Griffarius said. "They're yours."

Achilles stared in absolute shock, his mind having stuttered to a halt. Seeing this, Griffarius took a draught of wine before talking.

"Why do you think you dreamt of her so often for so many years? It wasn't a coincidence. It was your mother, and Penny's mother Otrere. They were pregnant at the same time, and met when they went to the Delphic Oracle. They were told that if their children united, they would found a clan that would be more powerful than any before or after it. A clan that would form an empire that would last a thousand years. Otrere and Thetis agreed that they would work their magic to ensure that you and Penny met on the astral planes. For years, they guided your dreams, until you grew old enough to meet on your own. Then one night, you impregnated her on the astral plane, and Otrere and Thetis made sure that your seed came back with her when she returned to her body. It happened right around the time when Penny challenged me when she was 15, so she thought I was the father."

"Then why did you take them?" Achilles asked.

"Because she didn't want to be reminded that I'd bested her," Griffarius replied. "She laid claim to them, of course, but sent them to me "for training". But now… they should know their father."

Achilles shook his head. "I'm a stranger to them. And a stranger I'll remain. I wasn't meant to settle down and grow old, it seems. Fate has other plans for me. But… you will tell them I loved her?"

Griffarius nodded silently, knowing he wouldn't be able to change Achilles' mind. A few silent minutes later, he left the tent, knowing he wouldn't see Achilles alive again.

Achilles' mind drifted back to his men as he ran through Ilium, fighting back a grunt of pain as he put pressure on the barely-healed stab wound. Penthesilea had aimed her blow well; her sword had damaged the muscle beneath the skin. It would have taken months to heal completely. He probably should not have volunteered to take part in the razing of the city, but he knew it would be his only chance to slip away from the army. In light of that, the pain was meaningless. The physical pain was nothing, especially considering he would be put out of his emotional pain soon enough. He had issued a final order to Eudoras, to sail the men to the relay point without him. Griffarius would meet them there before bringing them to Themiskyra to join the Amazons, and they would be safe. Griffarius would lead them to a safe place, where they could prosper together, out of the reach of Agamemnon's arm.

As the Greeks started to raze the town and let the army in, Achilles headed for the palace, searching for the prophetess Cassandra. He found her in a private courtyard, staring up blankly at the statue of Apollo, patron god of Troy.

"I knew you would come here," she said, her voice gravelly and revealing the trance she was in, as she spoke without turning. "I knew it the moment I saw the fate of the Amazon Queen."

"Then you know why I'm here," Achilles said, taking a step forward.

Cassandra nodded, holding up her hand and offering a piece of jewelry to Achilles. He closed his hand around the leather thong, on which were fastened seven stones of tourmaline and carnelian.

"She waits for you in Elysium," she said.

A sudden pain in his heel made Achilles whip around, to see Griffarius lowering a bow. He looked down to see an arrow had gone through his ankle. Not that he cared; in fact, he was grateful. His heel was his only physical weakness. Wound that, and he would die.

He looked at Griffarius as his vision began to fog over. He saw no emnity or condemnation in Griffarius' eyes; only understanding that this was the only choice. Achilles nodded once, silently giving Griffarius his thanks, before the breath left his body and he sank to the ground, giving up his spirit.

Elysian Fields

He opened his eyes slowly, blinking as the sunlight filled his vision. For a moment, he just lay in the grass, enjoying the sunlight, the breeze, the warmth, the quiet.

When he finally sat up, he found himself in a place of gently rolling hills. A variety of trees dotted the landscape, and in the distance he could see a herd of horses running free. The sky was achingly blue, the grass deeply green, the sunlight impossibly golden. It was still, and quiet… it was his idea of paradise.

"I wondered how long it would take before you joined the party."

Achilles stood upon hearing the voice of his beloved cousin. The younger man smiled in welcome as the two briefly embraced.

"We've been waiting for you," Patroclus said.

Achilles looked at his cousin, unusually hesitant. "Where is she?"

Patroclus grinned at this unknown side of his cousin, and pointed off a ways. Under a nearby olive tree stood a cluster of three women dressed in floor-length flowing robes and crowned with flowers.

He hadn't said a word, but one of the women lifted her head. Achilles' gaze locked with Penthesilea's, and for an infinite moment they just looked at one another. She broke away from her sister and mother and slowly walked forward, meeting him halfway. The scent of iris, the flowers that had been tucked into the ivy of the wreath on her head, wrapped around him.

"Penthesilea," he whispered.

"Hello, Achilles," she said softly.

He took her hand and looked down, unusually subdued. "Penthe… Had we lived… Would you have left it all behind? Would you have come to Phthia with me and been my bride?"

For a moment, she was silent, merely looking down at their entwined hands. Slowly, she raised her head, and her gaze again found his.

"Yes," she whispered. "For you, I would have given up the world."

He gathered her into his arms then, claiming her as his own in a gentle but passionate kiss. It no longer mattered that their lives had been cut short; now they had eternity.

The decades and centuries would roll by, and the humanity of the figures would be lost, forgotten. Penthesilea's petulance and brashness would be transformed by poets into a noble battle-glory; Achilles' human frailties would be lost in his divinity.

But though these mortals would transcend humanity and enter the surreality of mythology, there was one aspect of their story that could never be altered. History would ever remember their love as one of the greatest tragic romances of all time. Fathers would tell their sons of the moment they watched Achilles cradle Penthesilea's broken body; girls would grow up dreaming of a warrior who would honor them as Achilles had his one true lady love.

And they in their romance became as the immortals, forever remembered, forever honored.