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Twist of the Fates	By : Sagittarius Category: S through Z > Troy Views: 32712 -:- 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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Title: Twist of the Fates

Author: Sagittarius325

Email: Sagittarius325@hotmail.com

Chapter: 2

Rating: NC-17

Pairing: Achilles/Paris, Achilles/Patroclus implied

Warnings: This fic depicts graphic m/m interaction, consensual and non-consensual activities of varying and sordid kinds. If any of these subjects offend you, if you are underage or the laws of your country prohibit you from reading such material, then look away.

Summary: When Achilles and his Myrmidons win the Trojan beach, what if it had been Paris, not Briseis, captured in the temple that day.

Disclaimer: No infringement is intended, no money is to be made.

Author's Notes: You can read about the character of Troilus, the prophecy surrounding his life and his fatal encounter with Achilles here: http://www.androphile.org/preview/Library/Mythology/Greek/Achilles/Achilles_and_Patroclus.htm

*****
"Perhaps your brother can comfort them, I hear he�s good at charming other men's wives."
Achilles could not help but smirk as he recalled proud Hector�s furious expression at his remark, Troy�s renowned warrior unable to deny what was a known truth throughout the kingdoms of Greece. Eudorus, his second in command, had been the only one to protest as Hector had ridden away, unmolested, at Achilles� bidding. Perhaps rightly, for the capture of the royal prince and mighty defender of Troy would have secured near instant victory. Either Priam would have ransomed the faithless Helen for his beloved son or, more likely, merciless Agamemnon would have placed Hector�s head upon a stake before crushing the demoralized city.
Either way, Achilles would not have achieved his purpose for sailing to Troy. Immortality through the glory of battle.
His fair cousin, Patroclus greeted him as he and his Myrmidons descended from the sacked temple to the captured beachhead of Troy. The blond youth had apparently laid aside his grievance at Achilles� refusal to allow him to join the battle for his smile was bright and warm, eyes shinning in hero worship of his mentor and lover.
"Your tent awaits you cousin," Patroclus said, falling into step with him. "Away from the others that you might have peace in your contemplations before battle."
His smile was distinctly mischievous now and Achilles threw an arm around his shoulders, pressed his lips to the youth�s sun-flushed skin just below his ear. "Perhaps later you can aid me in my �contemplations�, cousin," he murmured and felt a shiver run through the younger man.
As Achilles strode to the tent that had been prepared for him, away from the ships and army, the famed warrior Ajax called a generous greeting to him. And he could not resist the opportunity to prick at cunning Odysseus as they crossed paths. Surrounded by such men, Achilles could feel the moment of his Fate rushing upon him, could feel it in every bone, every muscle, could almost scent the impending battle, the clash of sword and shield and spear. His would not be the only name remembered for a thousand years to come, he was certain of it.
"My Lord," he heard Eudorus� call and looked up to see his second in command striding towards him, a sly grin on his dirt streaked face. "We have something to show you."
Curiosity peaked, Achilles followed the man to his tent, a bold though not overly large structure that would give respite from the heat of the days and set far enough away that his needs could be seen to in privacy and seclusion.
Eudorus drew the beaded curtain aside with a graceless flourish and Achilles ducked and entered, the cool air instantly soothing against his sun kissed skin, his eyes adjusting quickly to the sudden gloom.
Alert, he became aware his was not the only presence within the tent. A second figure sat huddled before him, face turned away, knees drawn up to a flat, bare chest. Achilles followed the line of the other�s pale arms to see slender wrists crossed and tied securely to the center pole with azure bindings, no doubt torn from the man�s once rich robes.
"We found him in the temple," Eudorus was saying as Achilles approached the prisoner and dropped to his haunches to examine the man more closely. "Dressed as a priest and cowering from our men." Eudorus� voice dripped with scorn.
Achilles reached out and clasped the pointed chin, drawing the captive�s face towards him that he might better examine the prize his men had gifted him.
Large, brown eyes flashed their defiance, set in a face too fair by far to be wholly masculine. Yet it was neither this nor curly brown ringlets that framed the captive�s brow and high cheekbones that sent Achilles rocking back on his heels, the blood draining from his bronzed features.

His shade has returned to torment me, he thought, dazedly and mouthed the name that had not crossed men�s lips for a decade and more without pity. Troilus.
******

Ten years earlier�

The youth was beauty incarnate, skin like a silken hide, rippling over firm and shapely muscles, a divine mouth curved and ripe, eyes large and meltingly brown though they glittered pure venom over the clash of swords.
"Surrender to me, son of Troy," Achilles cajoled, then parried the vicious thrust that was aimed at him by way of reply.
"Never!" the beautiful youth spat, defiant and proud and in that moment Achilles was determined to have him should even the gods themselves descend to lay a claim upon the boy.
He blocked the next attack and responded with one of his own, slashing dangerously close to the youth�s chest and the boy leapt gracefully back, as sure-footed as a mountain goat. Despite his pretty agility, the battle would have been over long before had not Achilles desired their sparring, felt the stirrings of lust when the prince had first come upon him with murder in his eyes.
But he was growing impatient and the oppressive heat of the day combined with his frustration was turning his mood black. "Surrender to my caresses Troilus," Achilles threatened at last.
The boy�s answering sneer snapped the last of his restraint and quickly, he divested the Trojan prince of his sword and shield. Now the youth looked positively terrified and not a little dazed as to how he had come to lose his weaponry to the fabled warrior. But before Achilles could move to take him, he had fled for the temple of Apollo, quick as a deer startled into flight.
Achilles had cursed then, but followed, despite the protests of the men who stopped to watch the battle and their warnings of offending the sun god. He threw the priests aside as they attempted to block his passage for his lust and desire to possess had gone beyond mortal reason. He came upon the boy, kneeled before the sun god�s altar and grasped the curly brown head, jerking it back and laying his sword flat across Troilus� throat.
"Apollo will destroy you for this sacrilege," the Trojan princeling gasped, and closed his eyes in fear, muscles tensed as he waited for the edge of the sword to bite.
Achilles hesitated, then threw the boy down in disgust, stepping away. The youth had challenged him, as many had done so, foolishly hoping to slay the great Achilles and earn themselves glory and renown. This one was lucky in that Achilles had desired him at first sight and was therefore reluctant to destroy his beauty. And now that the boy was vanquished, Achilles would take his reward, whether it was offered willingly or no. Troilus would serve him well.
Turning, Achilles searched for rope to secure the boy for the journey back to his ships, when a horrified shout from one of the priests stripped thought and replaced it with pure instinct. In one fluid movement, he had turned and cut, neatly severing the head of his golden prize. For a moment the body remained upright, dagger in hand in preparation to plunge it into the warrior�s unguarded back, before slumping to the floor.
Achilles abandoned the temple soon after, leaving the priests and what remained to conjure a tale to tell Priam, King of Troy. He never knew what became of Troilus' body, only the scandalous stories that followed of how Achilles killed an unarmed boy for willfully refusing his would-be rapist.
*****
Indignantly, the captured Prince of Troy jerked his bruised face from the calloused grip of the unkempt Greek who had dared to lay hands on him, eyeing the blond man with undisguised disdain. The rough handling of the men who had taken him had served to ignite Paris� Trojan pride and the terror of his capture in Apollo�s temple had faded somewhat, replaced by a cold fury.
The Greeks had murdered the sun god�s priests, devout and pious men, before Paris� very eyes though they had only sought to protect their tools of worship from plunder. As he had told his brother only days before, he had yet to witness a slaying and the slaughter of the defenceless priests had shocked him into a shameful paralysis.
Shouts from the battle below on the beach had warned them too late to flee that war was upon them and moments later the Greeks had entered the temple, armed men in black leather who had set about searching for treasures with a barbaric haste.
One priest had been so bold as to press a pale robe into Paris� shaking hands. "My Lord, you must disguise yourself, for if they find you here, they will take you. Perhaps even kill you."
In fear, Paris had done as he was bidden, trembling at the thought of capture, though he burned in shame at his cowardly and false disguise. His brother Hector would not have taken such a craven route of escape, but would instead have fought off the invaders and driven them from both temple and beach and sent them scurrying back to Greece!
That he had brought no sword with him to even attempt to save his pride did not cross Paris� mind, as he watched in a terrified daze as the head priest calmly strode up to the raiders, berating them and demanding they withdraw. He spoke with all the righteous fury of the sun god himself, yet the men laughed, then swiftly killed him. The priest died with a look of outrage on his face, but there was no time for protest as the Greeks fell upon the others as if driven by the forces of Hades itself. Dishes containing offerings were carelessly shattered, statues were brought down and sacraments were cast into flame, and above all there were the screams and terrible, frightened cries of those being murdered by the raiders.
Shocked by the suddeness with which death had come upon them, Paris was struck dumb, unable to move to flee or defend himself. This was not his wistful imaginings of daydream battles, but brutal, cruel and bloody. There was no honour, no glory, only death. Hector had warned him, but he had not believed until now and the sheer horror of it prevented him from speaking, even to save his own life.
A brutal hand in his hair dragged him around to face a wild-eyed Greek and his tongue had loosened then and he had cried out in fear. The man had leered, then thrust him, stumbling, towards another who caught and held him easily.
"A pretty one here," his captor had called, his black leather armour digging painfully into Paris� back, even as a disgusting hand lifted a lock of his hair to sniff. "Ah, he smells so sweet."
He was swung round like nothing more than a sack of grain and a loathsome mouth was pressed upon his own, a vile tongue spearing into his mouth. Paris gagged on spittle and instinct made him bite down, earning a cry and a withdrawal, before a hard slap to his face sent him sprawling painfully to the hard stone floor.
There was crude laughter at that, but he barely felt the small agonies as the offended man hefted his sword and approached Paris with a crimson snarl and black murder in his eyes.
"Wait!"
The spoken command halted Paris� would-be killer in his tracks and the wild-eyed man came to stand over the fallen prince. He crouched and grasped Paris� leg, running his hand up his thigh to the raucous amusement of his men and Paris� horror. But his interest was not carnal as he revealed Paris� hastily concealed royal robes beneath the priest�s gown.
With an impatient jerk, the Greek commander ripped the disguise from Paris� frame, revealing rich, royal azure beneath.
"Well, well, well," the commander said, grinning. "What have we here?"
Another man grabbed Paris� hair and snatched a golden clasp from the curls, wringing from the Trojan prince another pained cry as roots were torn from his head at the careless handling.
"Who are you boy?" the commander demanded, wonderingly, hefting the gold clasp his man had given him. He roughly backhanded Paris when the prince, too terrified to reply, did not answer.

They will find out, Paris� mind screamed at him. Then they will kill you.
He flinched in muted misery when the commander rose, alerted by a noise outside. Silently, the Greek gestured to his men and they dragged Paris away to an enclosed alcove and there bound his mouth and wrists and ankles with cloth torn from his rich robes, stripping from him the gold in his hair with ungentle hands.
Outside, there were sounds of a brief battle, screams of men dying and Paris closed his eyes, anticipating a sword in the belly at any moment. He even dreamed he heard his brother�s voice, enraged and scornful. But events crashed down upon him with frightful suddeness and he had neither the strength nor will to remain conscious, and so slipped into a blessed nothingness.
******
Achilles allowed the youth�s bruised and dirtied face to escape his grasp, his hand hovering for a moment as he thoughtfully rubbed his fingers together where they had touched the boy�s skin. There was sweat and blood on them, sand too and oils, things that a shade would not carry with him from the Underworld. No, the boy was real. Not Troilus though, but�
"Prince Paris himself," Eudorus was saying, mockingly. "The gods must indeed have blessed us for this good fortune."
A brother then, Achilles realised, knowing now the reason for the uncanny resemblance to the youth he had once desired, then slew. And now that he could look upon his prize more closely, he could see subtle differences. Troilus had been beautiful indeed, but Paris held a warmth and softness absent from his dead brother. It was�desirable.
"Agamemnon will reward you greatly for this Achilles," Eudorus continued, excitedly. "Riches and lands, women. With Paris in our hands, Priam will surely treaty with Agamemnon for the return of his son."
"If you think Agamemnon has come all this way for parleying, you are a fool," Achilles returned, turning his attention back to the boy. "The King will have his war. I will have this war. Immortality awaits us if we are but bold enough to take it."
"My Lord?" Eudorus sounded hesitant now and Achilles spun angrily.
If Agamemnon came to possess Paris, there was a chance that he would seek to appease his slighted brother and exchange the boy for Helen. It would not halt their attack on Troy for Agamemnon�s greed, like his belly, was never sated.
But with the return of Menelaus� whore as a seeming end to the feud, the men would become restless and uncertain if they lingered in Troy. Alliances could crumble. The war could be stopped before it had even begun. Achilles had seen it before and not even Odysseus� cunning tongue would avert their retreat.
The chance for glory was upon them and Achilles would not see it lost.
"Speak of this to no one," he ordered Eudorus, gesturing at Priam�s youngest son. When Eudorus paused at that, he caught his second in command�s arm and repeated meaningfully, "To no one."
"As you wish, my Lord," Eudorus agreed quickly, seeing his commander�s baleful stare. He turned instead to the captured boy. "And him? What will you do with him?"
Paris had been watching them with wide eyes as they bartered his fate, and now he flushed as the two men turned to stare at him as if he were little more than chattel.
Achilles own gaze narrowed as he took in the sight of the boy, so like the one he had lost. Perhaps Eudorus was right and the gods indeed were smiling favourably upon them if Paris son of Priam was to be his war gift.
"I will keep him," Achilles said, and ignored Eudorus� start, then lascivious grin as the soldier allowed the beaded curtain to fall, leaving him to his prize.
*****
Patroclus looked up in askance as Eudorus returned to camp, but the other man merely shook his head in answer to the unspoken question and Patroclus flushed and frowned. He had thought Achilles would have sent for him soonest when his business with Eudorus was ended, but it seemed his cousin had further matters to attend to before Patroclus was summoned to his tent for the night.
It was no secret among the Myrmidons that the cousins were lovers. But unlike their sparrings, in bed play it was Patroclus who was oft mentor to Achilles� less patient student. Like the lion, the older warrior was wont to simply take, his own pleasure paramount, seeking little but a determined release. Under Patroclus� able guidance, Achilles had learned that a long, drawn out encounter could be more pleasurable and highly desirable, though there were times when he would still seek a quick release in the body of a slave or captive.
With Patroclus he was never less than gentle.
"So how did our Lord Achilles like his gift?" one of the Myrmidons asked and a few others chuckled.
Turning his attention from attending to his armour, Patroclus listened closely to Eudorus� reply.
"Well enough," the commander replied, grinning. "No doubt he will be in good humour come morn, for the boy has definitely caught his eye."
At this Patroclus stiffened. A captive had been gifted to his cousin, no doubt for his pleasure and while it was not uncommon for the son of Peleus to take his amusement thusly, Patroclus nonetheless felt the stirrings of envy. After Achilles had denied him a place in battle, speaking words of love and safety to sway him and soothe his injured pride, Patroclus had anticipated a night in his cousin�s arms in reparation. How could a mere slave turn the mighty Achilles� head that he might forsake his lover?
But perhaps his cousin had merely wished not to disappoint the men by refusing their gift. Perhaps he was even now awaiting Patroclus to share in the pleasures, as they had done so in the past, both taking unbridled gratification in the body of a captive until they found their mutual release. Eager now, Patroclus laid his armour aside and rose. His cousin would not be aggrieved by his intrusion, he was certain of it.
Walking through the sand, he did not sense Eudorus� presence behind him until the other man had grasped his arm, halting him.
"Lad wait," Eudorus commanded.
"Why do you stop me?" Patroclus demanded, flushing in anger.
However, Eudorus paid him no heed, instead was searching furtively about them. Certain they were alone and could not be overheard, he said quietly, "Your master does not wish for any disturbance, lad. It is no ordinary slave we have gifted him, but Paris, son of Priam."
At this Patroclus gaped. Paris, Prince of Troy? But how�?
"We are sworn to secrecy," Eudorus continued, meaningfully. "Achilles does not wish for Agamemnon to discover he has the boy."
"But why?" Patroclus asked, then lowered his voice at Eudorus� sharp look. "Agamemnon will reward him greatly for such a prize."
"You say nothing he does not know," Eudorus replied, wearily. "But he has commanded us to silence and we must obey."
Patroclus nodded mutely in understanding and waited for the commander to leave. There was little wonder his cousin was so enamoured of his new slave to the seclusion of all else. A lusty warrior, Achilles was drawn to great beauty and it was said Paris was fairest of all Trojans and well versed in the arts of love. And too, Patroclus knew the story of Troilus from Achilles� own lips and if there was a resemblance between brothers�
Fear gripped him then. Achilles loved him, as cousin, student and bed mate, of that he was in little doubt, but what if the Trojan prince somehow managed to capture his lord�s heart with his skilful wiles and pretty looks. It was a far-reaching possibility for Achilles was warrior first and looked only to sate his carnal appetites during times of war as Patroclus had discovered over the years. But still, it would mean the prince might supplant Patroclus� rightful place in his cousin�s bed for the duration of the war and the thought of being relegated to the communal lodgings with the men stung Patroclus� pride. The Myrmidons would think he had somehow displeased their Lord, he thought bitterly.
If Achilles was truly taken by Paris� fair face and form, Patroclus knew there was little he could do to sway his cousin or reclaim his place at his side.

Unless Agamemnon was to discover who warmed Achilles pallet at night.
The thought pricked at him until it blossomed into a heady plan. The King of Greece would reward Achilles for the capture of Paris and the Trojan Prince would be taken from them. Too, all Greeks would know it was Achilles and his mighty Myrmidons who had secured victory once again, just as they had won renown for capturing the beachhead of Troy.
But, more importantly, Patroclus would once again lay sole claim upon his cousin�s affections and reclaim his place in both the heart and bed of mighty Achilles.
Glancing about, Patroclus slipped unnoticed from their small camp and headed towards the Greek ships.
*****
None would know of his capture, Paris realised, dismally. Not his father or brother or Helen. They would think he had fled the city in terror upon the arrival of the Greeks and that thought angered him above all else. He was not a coward as many thought, but soft-spoken words of love and the music of the lyre came more readily to him than the act of war.
The warrior, Achilles, the man who it was said had slain his older brother now sat across from him, silent as he ate and seemingly absorbed in the task of filling his belly. Why Paris was not already in the hands of Menelaus and his brother confounded him, though he was grateful. Not only because he was certain he would receive further ill treatment from them, but because he was sure they would barter him for Helen and that he could not stand to think upon.
Yet though he was not yet a prisoner of the King, there was no reason he had to remain a captive of the blond warrior.
"My father," Paris began, then cringed as his croaking voice filled the silent tent. "My father will pay ten times my weight in gold for my ransom," he pressed on. "And more."
Achilles thoughtfully set down the tray he held and turned bright, eagle eyes upon the prince. "It is not gold that interests me."
"What then?" Paris demanded, proudly lifting his chin. "Jewellery, finery? A title?"
Achilles laughed at his desperate gropings and shook his head. "What would I do with jewels and fine silks, Prince?" he asked, amusedly gesturing about the sparse tent. "I am a warrior and have little use for such. As for a princely title, I already have one. Like you I am the son of a King, or do you forget?"
Paris flinched as the warrior moved suddenly to crouch before him, yet could not help but appreciate the fluid grace, the purposeful shift of muscles under the sun bronzed skin. Some called Achilles the Great Lion and Paris understood now where the appellation sprang from, for there was a predatory feel about the son of Peleus.
"There is but one thing I crave at this moment," Achilles said softly.
Paris shrank back as a hand, hardened by the long use of sword and spear was lifted and he expected cruel treatment then. None was forthcoming and instead, the hand came to rest feather light upon his cheek. Paris desperately searched the piercing blue eyes of the man before him, seeking some hint of what it was Achilles prized above all else. What he saw in their intense, cerulean depths made the pit of his belly flutter most strangely and he swallowed convulsively.
"What do you want?" he whispered, in despair, as the gentle hand moved to his throat, then down to his bare chest to rest over his heart.
"What I want, I already have," Achilles murmured. "You."
END OF CHAPTER TWO
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Twist of the Fates