SERIES: "Paris' Confinement"
FIC: (Part Three) "Divine Seed"
AUTHOR: Mistress Marilyn camelotslash-2 at qwest.net
DATE: December 8, 2004
FANDOM: "Troy" (Warner Bros. 2004)
PAIRING: Paris / ?
DISCLAIMER: I don't own 'em. They belong to Homer, to Warner Brothers, to the respective actors of the movie "Troy" -- and to the ages! This is the work of a fan, done for no remuneration save the satisfaction of the work itself.
WARNINGS: Slash, mpreg
SUMMARY: King Priam intervenes.
BETA: Thank you, Charlie!
DEDICATION: To Ariel, who recently shared at many of the lists her joy at welcoming a new son.
AUTHOR NOTES: This fic was written to be posted at the Troy MPreg group I moderate, Troy-MPregs-FemPregs

-Divine Seed-

Paris stood quietly, looking into the blue eyes of his father, King Priam. As always, Priam's face reflected love and kindness as he studied his youngest son. But now there was another emotion present, one that Paris had rarely if ever seen.

Pride.

"This is a great gift of the gods!" Priam said. "We will not shut him away and act as though we feel shame at this honor. We will proclaim this from the very top of the citadel and spread the word through every street and alleyway in Troy! The people will find this something to rejoice."

Paris couldn't hide his smile, even in the face of his brother Hector's glowering countenance. Somehow Priam had learned of Paris' condition, presumably from questioning both the physician and Helen about his son's prognosis. Paris had been confined in his apartments for several weeks, shut away by Hector with only Helen, the surgeon and a few servants allowed inside. When Priam had come and asked to see his son, the guards at Paris' door could not refuse.

And so Priam had witnessed Paris' swollen belly for himself. And his reaction had been a far different one from Hector's, even when he learned the identity of the sire.

"We must send word to the Greek camp at once!" Priam announced. "We must dispatch the Apollonian Guard to escort the King of the Myrmiddons into the city, where he will see what the gods have willed. Surely his reluctance to fight for Agamemnon has something to do with this -- is part of the gods' same plan."

Achilles had sat on the sidelines since just after the Greeks landed on the beach, that first day when he and Hector met in the sacked Temple of Apollo. Rumors spoke of an argument between Achilles and Agamemnon, perhaps over a woman or another of the spoils of war.

Hector stepped forward, making a sound of impatience. "Father! We cannot let the Greeks know that their greatest hero has sullied Troy's prince!"

Priam's eyes were cold as he looked at his eldest son. When he had seen for himself that Paris was indeed with child, Priam had immediately sent for Hector, his anger at having had Paris' condition hidden from him tempered only by his delight at the unexpected news.

"Sullied?" he now said. "How can you say so? Was he injured in some way by Achilles? He has described their encounter as something magical. Surely the god Apollo or the goddess Aphrodite were present at this conception!"

Hector frowned. "The gods love to watch us mortals at play!"

"Do not mock the gods!" Priam commanded. "I won't allow you to risk your brother and this city by questioning the will of Apollo!"

"Then do as you wish, Father," Hector said vehemently, turning to leave. "I'll be with the army, as always, preparing this city's defenses against Agamemnon, who may not be as impressed as you believe at the news that Troy's prince has been turned into a woman by Greek's greatest warrior!"

Both Paris and Priam watched as Hector stalked from the bedchamber. Then the king turned to his son and smiled.

"Do not be hurt by your brother's harsh words," he said. "Hector has never understood you, Paris. And his soldier's pride won't allow him to see that Troy's safety may depend on a man with a babe, not one with a sword."

Paris suddenly felt light-headed, and the weight of his belly tugged at him. He sank down on a nearby cushioned bench.

"Do you really believe this, Father? That my child can hold the key to Troy's future?"

Priam nodded, settling down beside Paris. "I do, Son. I cannot say how, but I am sure there is something divine in this seed. You are carrying Troy's savior."

Paris sighed. "I wish I were more religious. I know I have always been Aphrodite's favorite, but I've never understood why. Did she gift me with beauty, or did she choose me because of it? At times her attentions have seemed more a curse than a blessing!"

Helen entered, carrying a tray. "It's time for you to eat, Paris. You only picked at your food this morning."

Squeezing Paris' knee, Priam rose. "Do as she says, Son. You must bolster your strength and that of the child. I will send word to the camp of the Myrmiddons, and you must be prepared for whatever comes next."

"The Myrmiddons?" Helen said. "What of the Myrmiddons? You don't plan on telling Achilles of this child?"

"My father knows best," Paris said, moving to the table where Helen had deposited the tray of food. "Don't worry."

"Achilles is a beast!" Helen said. "He cares for nothing but glory! If you must send for one of the Greeks, send for the king of Ithaca -- Odysseus. He will know how best to use the news of Paris' condition."

Priam smiled back at the two before leaving the bedchamber. "I will consult the priests and decide."

A saucer clattered from Helen's hand. She made an impatient sound as she bent to prepare Paris' plate. "Your father is a good man," she began carefully. "But he does not always understand the way the Greeks think."

Paris reached for the plate, surveying its contents with dismay. "I can't eat this! I just wish some bread and olives," he said.

Helen stood over him, smoothing back the dark, curling hair from his high forehead. "You must try, my love. Please."

Helen's reaction to Paris' condition had been surprising. Instead of the expected revulsion and possible envy she might have felt, she had become even more solicitous and loving since he had shared the news. She had shuddered when he described, in a cursory manner, the encounter with Achilles on Mount Ida. And she had tried to sway Hector's decision to shut Paris up in their apartments in the citadel, arguing as Paris had done that both he and the child needed air and freedom to flourish. Finally, when her debates with the crown prince had proven unsuccessful, she had hinted directly to the king that he should investigate his son's mysterious illness.

Helen seemed to feel Paris' pregnancy did not contribute to his weakness; rather it proved some sort of inner strength that no one but she and the goddess could recognize.

How he loved her still, even now when he found all physical desire for her had faded! She seemed a trusted and valued friend, someone in whom he could confide his uncertainties and even fears. It was a difficult thing for a prince to find a close friend, and for the first time in his life, Paris enjoyed the companionship of a woman without employing the artiface of seduction.

"I hope he sends for Odysseus," Helen fretted, pouring Paris a mug of fresh water. "He's a fox and never to be trusted, but he's a friend of Achilles and he respects the gods. He will know the best way to approach both Achilles and Agamemnon."

Paris sighed, pushing the food around on his plate. "I have to admit I hate the idea of all of Greece knowing of my condition!" He reached out and grasped one of Helen's slim wrists. "Look at me! Do you find me womanly?"

She sat down beside him and patted his shoulder. "No, my love. I find you beautiful, but not womanly. I think your condition is the goddess' way of intervening, of finding a way for your honor to be redeemed." She paused. "It's natural for men to think little of the contributions of women," she reflected. "We do not fight in your wars or govern your cities. Even the Amazons stay away from world events, although they are believed to live just over the mountains!"

She handed him the cup of water and watched while he drank, then continued. "The most important contribution a woman can make -- and the only one most men will acknowledge -- is to carry a child. Until now, no man has been able to continue his line without the help of a woman!"

Paris stared at her lovely face, surprised at her vehemence. "Helen, women are the most revered creatures on earth!"

She gave him an indulgent smile. "You are a most unnatural man, my love," she said, "because of the love you carry, not the child."

"Hector loves Andromache! He honors her and tries to keep faith with her."

"Hector does not take a mistress or a second wife. But he is like most men. Like Achilles. He finds true passion only in the arms of his own sex."

Paris stared toward the terrace. The autumn sun shone bright outside the city, warming its walls with none of the ferocity of summer. But still the cooling breeze he longed for did not come.

"Perhaps once he did, Helen," he said. "But not now."

"Eat, Paris," she ordered, standing up and smoothing her gown. "Then we will choose what you will wear to the Great Hall. I think tonight your father will expect you to be in attendance. I'll go and find a servant to dress your hair."

Paris sat and picked at his food, trying to dutifully comply with Helen's wishes. Finally he gave up and walked to the window, staring out toward the rise of land that concealed the beach beyond, the beach where the Greek army camped. He allowed himself to think of Achilles, the man who had taken him on the moutainside and left him in this condition. Closing his eyes, he could see the warrior perfectly -- the blue eyes squinting in the summer glare, the burnished skin tinted by the sun of Greece, the hair the color of the golden statue of Apollo. White teeth flashed behind a quick smile as Achilles bent to touch him. Paris felt the skin of his neck prickle, remembering.

Reaching down to cup his swollen belly, Paris allowed his hand to wander farther. Yes, he was still a man! This part of him still responded, if only to the memory of the passion he had known just that once on Mount Ida.

From somewhere inside his head, the familiar tinkle of music sounded. The god was still with him, still directing these events. Whatever happened next, Paris was suddenly sure there would be a divine hand in it.

Now resolute, he walked to his closet to choose a robe befitting a Prince of Troy.

The End, Part Three