SERIES: "Paris' Confinement"
FIC: (Part Five) "Sea Foam"
AUTHOR: Mistress Marilyn camelotslash-2 at qwest.net
DATE: December 18, 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: Paris and Achilles meet again.
BETA: Thank you, Charlie!
DEDICATION: To my dearest M., who remains my deepest obsession and inspiration.
AUTHOR NOTES: Aphrodite means "foam-born" in Greek; Aphrodite rose from the sea, formed when the waves mingled with the seed and blood of the severed genitals of Uranus, the sky.

-Sea Foam-

Every few seconds Paris felt his chest flutter, a sign of his nervous anticipation as he sat preparing himself for the upcoming audience. Far below in his burgeoning belly he noticed an answering flutter, a little vibration followed by a pointed poke.

It was the babe! The life inside him was awake and aware -- aware that the one from whose seed he had sprung was soon to visit the great city of Troy.

Let me hear the music now, Paris thought to himself. Let me know that Apollo is with me as I go to meet again the one who defiled his temple so many weeks ago and then defiled Troy's prince not long after.

How clearly he could remember that summer afternoon on Mount Ida. He only had to pause and close his eyes to be drawn back to that day filled with both fear and elation. It was as though he were there again, reliving it all -- the smell of lilacs and fresh grass; the sound of birdsong and busy insects buzzing in the bush; the feel of rough fingers, made golden by the sun, pressing into his flesh, awakening his most ardent senses, strumming his very soul.

He would soon be here in the city. The enemy. His rapist. The father of his child.

Achilles.

Soon after the departure of Odysseus, Achilles had sent word that he would come to Troy. And now that day had arrived, and Paris tried to prepare himself to meet the Greek warrior for the second time, wondering what he would feel when he again laid eyes on the living image of the god Apollo -- wondering also what Achilles would see when he looked at Paris.

Paris opened his dark eyes and stared at himself in the mirror. How pale he had become in the weeks of his confinement! The marks of his encounter with Menelaus were now completely faded, and his complexion was smooth and unblemished. His dark, curling hair had grown, and the beads and jewels dressing it artfully positioned long coils down his neck. The rich robe he wore was two shades of blue trimmed with silver, and a heavy necklace of azure stones accented the outfit perfectly. He sighed at his reflection. His slightly swollen bosom and big belly notwithstanding, he was beautiful still.

Would Achilles find him so?

Paris looked up as Helen entered. She was dressed in white, her gown simple yet elegant. The sandals peeking from under the drape of her skirt were gold. Her shining, honey-colored hair was piled high on her head. She wore no crown or ornament other than pendulous gilded earrings.

Paris reflected briefly on what a striking pair he and Helen made. How could anyone have believed that such a comely creature as Helen should be bound for life to the loutish brute, Menelaus? No wonder Aphrodite had seen to it that she and Paris would finally find one another; couldn't the disastrous results be forgiven if one considered the most important thing on earth to be love?

Paris knew that in the besieged city of Troy he was probably alone in believing that the benefits of love should outweigh the consequences of war. Already the populace suffered under the constraints of the invaders; trade and commerce were severely curtailed, and the renowned luxuries of abundant goods and foodstuffs now limited. While most people felt the city's walls -- believed to have been built by Apollo himself -- would withstand any attack, the occasional excursions of the Apollonian Guard or the army itself had left many sons and fathers of Troy dead, and the remains of funeral pyres were as numerous now as the seasonal signs of autumnal celebrations had once been. Paris and Helen both knew that many held them responsible for Troy's plight, and as much as he had disliked the necessity of staying inside during his confinement, Paris was not sorry to avoid the icy stares and covert glances of enmity that often followed the young couple when they went abroad in the city.

The one whose disapproval he could not avoid was now supposedly waiting to be beside him when they greeted the leader of the Myrmidons, and that was his own brother, Troy's crown prince.

Hector.

Paris shook off his thoughts. "My love," he said, "you cannot go with me to meet Achilles."

She nodded and gave him a gentle smile. "I know. I only came to see that you had been attended to. Andromache and I helped to prepare the private hall where Achilles will be received."

"And Hector? Does he wait there?"

She shook her head. "I have not seen Hector. But I suppose he also is preparing himself."

Paris could only wonder at his brother's thoughts at this moment. For the first time since the Greeks landed on their shores, Hector would meet the man who had spared his life that day in the Temple of Apollo after slaughtering much of Hector's guard. How difficult for a proud man like Hector to be forced to publicly acknowledge the humbling of his family -- the possession and impregnation of his own brother.

Sighing, Paris rose. He reached his hand around and gave support to his lower back, noticing again a slight flutter in his belly.

"This child knows Achilles is near," he said to Helen. "He demands his own audience."

"He'll soon have it," she answered.

Helen walked with him to the private hall where Priam already waited. She left him at the well-guarded entrance, reaching over to kiss him lightly on the cheek and press his hand.

"Remember, you are a Prince of Troy," she whispered.

"I never forget it," he said.

Paris entered, nodding to his father who motioned his son to sit beside him. He noticed a well-stocked table nearby, festooned with garlands and covered with plates of food and bowls of wine. He wished now he had taken wine earlier; it might have relaxed him, even if it hadn't quenched the sometimes desperate thirst he often felt. He licked his lips unconsciously.

"Achilles, King of the Myrmidons!" was announced from the door.

Paris sank into his chair, his eyes darting toward the entryway. Fully dressed in battle armor and carrying his helmet, Achilles walked in, four darkly clad men behind him. He walked confidently toward the throne, glancing with seeming amusement at the guards that surrounded Troy's king.

Paris looked down, afraid to meet his eyes.

Handing his helmet to one of his men, Achilles folded his arms and faced Priam. "You have sent for me, Priam of Troy."

"King Achilles, you are welcome in our city."

Achilles gave Priam a humorless smile. "Do not call me 'king.' I do not use that title. My Myrmidons follow me of their own will, and I fight beside men, not kings."

"We have heard and seen that you do not fight at all, Lord Achilles, and yet you still remain on our shores," Priam said.

"I am here for my own purposes," Achilles said. "And now it seems I have even more reason to wait for the fall of Troy."

Priam stood. "Would you see the city that protects your own son be destroyed by the Greek army?" he asked.

Unable to resist any longer, Paris looked directly at the golden warrior. He felt a flush coloring his cheeks as Achilles' unblinking blue eyes met his gaze. In those eyes he read curiosity and something else -- something he could not fathom. Dare he hope it was the flicker of an emotional tie to either himself or his child . . . or both?

"I intend to protect the son you speak of myself, King Priam. The prince will come with me now. I am claiming him."

A clatter of arms sounded at the back of the hall as Hector stalked in past the startled guards. He, too, was dressed for battle sans helmet, although he carried no sword or spear. He walked directly toward Achilles, carving his tall form through the line of Myrmidons who parted to allow him past.

"You have no rights here. You can claim nothing," Hector said, now standing face to face with Achilles, nearly an inch taller than the legendary Greek warrior.

"No claim, Prince? Is that not my seed that swells your brother's belly? Or did you Trojans lie to the King of Ithaca?"

Hector grimaced. "Yes, it seems that it was your attack that left my brother in this condition. Evidently the gods do indeed have a sense of humor. But this seed is part of the royal line of Troy and here it will remain."

Priam motioned to Hector. "Take your seat beside me, my son," he commanded. "We will hear this man out."

Hector glanced angrily at his father. "This impregnation of my brother was nothing but an accident," he said, "and as brutal as the castration of Uranus that resulted in the birth of the goddess who calls Paris her favorite. The only intended result of this man's vile act was the insult to Troy's royal line and to me!"

Shaking his head, Priam stepped forward. "There are no accidents with the gods," he said. "We all adhere to their design."

Facing his father, Hector continued to fume. "You ask me to believe that the gods wish this man to mix his seed with our family's?"

Achilles raised a battle-scarred arm. "It makes no difference, Prince. It is done. And now I will take my child and go."

"You will not touch my brother again!" Hector said, and Paris had the impression he might leap on the Greek at any moment. The Myrmidons who surrounded Achilles evidently sensed the same, as they moved closer to their lord, their eyes wide and attentive.

"I will have the child," Achilles repeated. "It is mine, which no one here denies. And I will take it either within the body of Troy's prince or cut from it."

Paris' eyes widened in horror; he felt his throat constrict and for the first time in weeks feared he would be sick to his stomach. He forced himself to sit without expression or motion, willing the uncontrolled trembling in his arms and legs to cease. He felt caught in the rolling motion of the sea, afloat in the waves of world events, about to be cast upon the beach like the unsubstantial remnants of foam.

Standing before the line of ornate royal chairs and the tall form of King Priam, the two enemies, leaders of their respective armies and the most skilled fighters of their age, faced off. The force of their animosity was palpable, and sitting so close by watching, Paris felt something akin to an electrical charge from the two men, like the sparks sometimes emitted in a storm. He felt as though he were witnessing a clash of titans, of two men with titanic wills. Paris was suddenly surprised and somehow appalled at how well matched they were.

"You wish to fight me, Prince?" Achilles asked. "I assure you, if we fight, you will lose."

"I have asked you to fight me from that first day!" Hector said. "You are the one who refuses the battle -- not I."

Achilles smiled, his blue eyes humorless. "You are in such a hurry to die, Prince of Troy. I wonder at it."

Hector lunged toward Achilles and the Myrmidons reacted, springing forward to protect their lord. Paris, too, moved quickly, rising and calling out, ignoring the sudden lightness in his head. As Priam swung around to catch him, Paris felt himself falling forward.

When he regained his senses, his head was in Helen's lap and the physician was close by.

"I . . . I fainted," he said, trying not to groan.

"Be still, my son," Priam said. "You must think of the child."

Towering over him, both Hector and Achilles stared down, their faces masks of imperious strength. They stood side by side, two warriors, one dark, one light -- both formidable forces in his own right. Paris closed his eyes, unwilling to continue to look up at them.

"I'll go with him," he said in a soft voice, blind to the reaction of those around him. "Helen, help me up."

Taking Helen's arm, he stood slowly, trying to steady himself. Then, tossing back his head and raising his chin, he turned to face his father and brother and the godlike Achilles as he again assumed the dignity of a Prince of Troy.

The End, Part Five