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Rage Regret & Redemption	By : Liliana Category: S through Z > Troy Views: 10162 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Troy, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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" Rage Regret & Redemption."
Author: Thalionwen
Website: www.thalionwen.com
Disclaimer: No profit is being made by me from this story and no copyright infringement is intended. I only write out of sheer wonder for the movie, which has captured my imagination.
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Achilles/Paris
Warnings: Begins with a NON-CON type of situation, though this is not a rape fic!. M/M pairing. Intense alternating POV's.
Summary: What if it had been Paris, not his father, who had gone to Achilles' yurt to plead for the return of Hector's body?... The far-reaching import of a fateful decision.
Author Note: Though he is only mentioned briefly, I have chosen to pronounce the name of Achilles' cousin as; Petracles.
CHAPTER I
So... The whelp had come to plead for the return of his brother's lifeless body.
Achilles looked down at the scared, yet earnest face of this prince; Nay, boy, who was kneeling down on the sandy floor of the yurt, awaiting his mercy.
Achilles felt none.
For here, before him, was the very cause of his anger...of his pain. This boy, who in his youthful idiocy had had the audacity to steal the prized wife of the King of Sparta. This boy, who in doing so had provided that pompous, self-appointed ruler of Greece, Agamemnon, with the perfect excuse to set sail for these accursed shores. This boy, who was ultimately the reason why Achilles' own beloved cousin had been laid atop a funeral pyre the night before, after falling in battle against the Trojan prince Hector, who now himself lay dead outside while this boy, presumed to impose his worthless grief upon the greatest warrior that had ever lived.
The famed Greek's sky-blue eyes hardened, until they became two points of ice-cold crystal.
" Stand up." He said, his voice even colder.
Paris, youngest son of the King of Troy, did so...on trembling legs. He was frightened. So frightened that the feel of it was like the sting of a thousand scorpions in his gut. He had watched Hector fall, from the safety of their father's royal pavillion. He had seen the skill of this ruthless warrior, who was unlike any other mortal in the world. And he had been crushed by the monstrous weight of grief and guilt at knowing that he was the cause of this tragedy.
I was suffocating him.
So he had come. Come for love of his brother. Come to atone for his own cowardice. And now he stood, struggling to keep his fear reigned in as he tried not to buckle under that sepulchral stare. Achilles sneered.
" Strip." He ordered, as if speaking not to a prince, but to the lowliest of slaves.
Liquid brown eyes widened and Paris stood rooted to the spot, frozen by momentary incomprehension. Then, faster than his numbed mind could register, he found himself brutally grabbed by the hair and forced to stare up at that implacable face, now only inches from his own.
" You will do as I tell you, or I shall cut into your stomach with a blunt blade and drink my fill of wine, as I watch you slowly die."
That voice was low, measured, controlled... and it was the most horrifying sound that Paris had ever heard in his young life. His eyes welled up, tears spilling in spite of his best efforts to contain them. But they were as nothing to the Greek, who simply let go of the prince's hair and disdainfully walked back to the bow-backed chair where he once again sat, before nonchalantly picking up his half-filled goblet.
" Strip."
This time Paris rushed to obey, his fingers clumsily undoing the buckles to the ceremonial armor that pressed with mocking coldness against his skin. Garters, bracers, sandals and wrap all came to rest on the ground by his feet, until he stood in nothing but his loincloth. That he would be whipped, he was now sure of. But with the small measure of courage residing in his heart, he determined to withstand the coming lashing, if it would mean he could return to Troy with Hector's body and thus give his beloved brother the proper funerary rites.
Achilles' lip curled as he watched the young Trojan shakily carrying out his command. He knew what the whelp was thinking. He could read it in the slightly hunched posture, in the ill-concealed attempts to draw steadying breaths. Achilles could not deny that the thought of flaying the skin of the prince's back had crossed his mind, more than once, but he had a different kind of punishment in mind. A punishment that for a male son of Troy, would be far worse...
The mighty Greek warrior took a long, lazy drink from his goblet, letting himself savor the sight of the prince, standing before him in near-naked humilliation.
Then he struck the verbal hammer-blow.
" Take it all off."
The very blood seemed to drain from Paris' face. He had heard that Greek males openly indulged in practices barely tolerated by the citizens of Troy, many of whom considered such indulgences to be unnatural.
{ Nay! He cannot mean to... Hector, Hector!... }
The prince's distress was clearly apparent. Seeing that comprehension had dawned brought a cruel smile to Achilles' own face, even as it caused a tightening in his loins that in truth, had very little to do with lust. Paris looked at him with eyes full of hopeless denial.
" What honor would there be in this?." he asked, his voice raw with fear.
" Honor?... Do you think that you deserve to be treated with honor, prince?."
The Greek's own voice was filled with scorn, as he continued.
" You, who drank Minelaus' wine, ate his food and then repaid that hospitality by stealing his wife?." Achilles uttered a bark of a laugh " You, who crawled like a beaten dog from the field of battle, to kneel in cowardice at your brother's feet after Minelaus rightfully defeated your pitiful challenge?. Tell me, do you truly think you are entitled to honor?... Do you?!."
The mordant force of that last question struck at Paris' very soul, causing his body to flinch. He thought of valiant Hector, who had met Achilles in combat, even though he knew that it would bring about his doom. He thought of all the soldiers who had spilled their blood, so that he, Paris, could quit the field and run for safety behind the walls of Troy. And there was the answer, painfully clear. No, he did not deserve to be treated with honor, for he was utterly unworthy of it.
With eyes now downcast, Paris loosened the strings of his loincloth, then let it fall...
TBC...
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Rage Regret & Redemption