Author’s notes, part one: For those unfamiliar with Helenus, he was the younger brother of Paris, Hector and Deiphobus, as well as being Cassandra’s twin. Many of the prophecies that are associated with Cassandra were actually spoken by Helenus. A priest of Apollo as opposed to a warrior like (most) his older brothers, he still fought bravely and was considered the military brain to Hector’s military brawn. Known for his intelligence and cunning, he was called the Trojan Odysseus, which put him in the bad books with the real Odysseus *grin*. He was the only Trojan prince to actually survive the war, and ended up marrying Andromache. He is also pretty much slashable with every single male character in the Trojan War. It’s quite amazing. Damn pity he wasn’t in the film, he might have ended up with a hint of a fan base if he had been.

Author’s notes, part two: Some believe that Achilles was secretly attempting to negotiate peace with the Trojans after the death of Patroculos and Hector. I’m running with that in this fic.

Challenging Fate. Part One.

It was always easy to sneak out of the Achaean camp once night fell. Intent was on keeping enemies out, and as the smouldering ruins of their most eastern makeshift homes lined the dying horizon, hardly a thought – or a guard – was spared on the figure that disappeared along with it. Even a fool knew that Odysseus had men within the foreign city’s walls, and it was not rare to see soldiers slink off into the night. It was only when they returned that any real attention was paid.

Achilles was hardly one of Odysseus’ spies, but the misrepresentation held within in it an opportunity to remain undiscovered, one that only the proud would ignore. There was a time when Achilles would have scorned the thought of deliberately allowing others to think that, even when converting with shadows that hid away his identity, he was working below one of the other Kings. That pride had fallen upon its own sword when it had bred the death of Patroculus. As he slunk through the marshes that made fighting on the plains of Troy so difficult during the winter months, he allowed a flicker of grief for his fallen friend, before focussing again on the plight that lay ahead of him.

If Achilles had read the situation wrong, then by dawn’s first light he would be united with his friend once more. Perhaps that was why fear failed to plague him as he crossed into territory that was no longer considered within the control of the Achaean Kings. Each alternative that his mind played out was far preferable to the life that remaining at camp promised, a long war that would take with it all its heroes and leave behind only bitter memories of years spent watering the fields in human blood.

He would have his peace, in this life or the one that would follow.

As had been promised, there was a guide waiting silently for him near the river that ran parallel to the coast, flowing down iced water from the Dardanelles. Achilles had been expecting a man, one brave enough to dare meet the mighty Achilles alone, yet what he found in place of a warrior was a young girl, hardly more than 10 summers old.

It was, Achilles reflected as he silently followed the child as she headed just as quietly back towards the citadel, quite possibly a move that would have made even Odysseus give pause. An actual solider would have caused doubt and suspicion to cloud the far most reaches of his subconscious, and a scene could have been caused that would have nullified everything thus far. Yet, Achilles could not doubt the intent of a child, especially one whom could not kill him even with a hundred swords. At the same time, if Achilles had been the one coming in falsehood, it was doubtful that he would have been able to strike down someone so young in cold, unprovoked blood.

Perhaps he would see sunrise, after all.

It did not surprise him when the child led him through a back entry and into the citadel itself. Troy was a besieged city in name only, for while the Achaeans denied the Trojans access to the Aegean Sea, they neither bordered on the walls themselves nor encircled them in any form of entirety. The lower part of the city was a chaotic ensemble of buildings that had been hurriedly built to try and accommodate a population that now included those from nearby villages, the mishmash of cheap and cluttered houses often spilling onto the pavement that wound up the higher terraces of the city, before eventually concluding at the palace. The child did not take him that way, instead weaving a path through dark side streets that delved deeper into the poorer end of the city before turning westward. It was not long before cobble gave way to tendered grass, colonnaded in a fashion that was in a way a reflection of the Achaeans own style. A small temple was enclosed there, and sharp eyes caught a flicker of movement on the porch before it faded into the shadows. He had taken three steps forward before he thought to check with the child, her sudden absence confirming that this was indeed where he was supposed to be.

Small candles lit the entrance of the temple, their flames highlighting softly the frescos that portrayed scenes from legend. Tall as opposed to long, it was a typical fashion for the Trojans, who worshiped the sun god, Apollo, above all others. His feet fall silently on the marbled floors as he made his way down the entrance corridor, alert still for any sort of trap. But as the corridor gave way to a more open cella, the room where worship took place, Achilles found not a gathering of soldiers but one lone prince, leaning slightly against the alter with a casual familiarity that bordered on blasphemous. Helenus, fourth born of Hecuba’s children and rumoured to be Priam’s favourite, did not so much as flinch as Achilles entered, even though Achilles would not have even needed a weapon to down the other man. Far slighter in build than his older brothers, Helenus had not dressed in armour but instead priest robes, the light material gently brushing the floor at his feet, before splitting to mid thigh to allow proper movement. Long blond hair that was rumoured to have come from Apollo as opposed to Priam was tied back loosely at the nape of a pale neck, and the priest wore an expression that was half a challenge, half feigned interest.

“When you agreed to meet up on neutral territory, I was assuming you meant somewhere actually considered neutral.” Achilles spoke first, hard eyes never leaving Helenus’.

“And I did.” Helenus’ own gaze never flickered. “Being within the walls of Troy neutralises the obvious physical advantage you technically have over me. Therefore, neutral ground.” As a tiny smirk played at the corner of Helenus’ lips, Achilles wondered why, if this was supposedly considered neutral ground, he already felt as though he had fallen a few steps behind. “Besides,” Helenus continued, the hint of a smirk dropping almost instantly, “Troy is not safe even for its princes these days, I can offer you more protection within this temple than anywhere in the city – inside the walls or without.”

Achilles had never considered himself one who needed protection, yet there was a truth that rang in Helenus’ words. Considered the highest authority within Troy when it came to their patron god, only a fool would challenge Helenus on grounds that were considered sacred.

“I was expecting you to be older.” His comment may have appeared random, but it was also a silent acknowledgement of Helenus’ reasoning, and a tribute. They had never met before in battle, and all Achilles knew about Helenus came from whispers and conversations around fires or nights spent in Agamemnon’s tent focussing on battle plans. He knew what all Greeks did, that Helenus was one half of the pair of famed twins whose beauty rivalled Paris’, and who were blessed personally by Apollo himself. Achilles knew of the keen intelligence that was often spoken about at camp, and how much Odysseus hated being compared to anyone when it came to brilliance, let alone an enemy. He knew of the bond between mortal and god that was supposed to surpass even that held by the highest of Greek priests.

And he had been expecting Helenus to be older, not several summers younger than Achilles himself was.

“And I was expecting you to be taller.”

With those words, Helenus turned towards the altar, leaving his back barred to Achilles. It was a move that even the most novice of soldiers knew never to make, yet instead of telling of Helenus’ inexperience when dealing with a potential foe, the move told a slightly different story.

Helenus wasn’t overly concerned about seeing sunrise, either. It was either that, or the seer knew without a doubt that he would not die by Achilles’ sword this night.

“It must be a blessing knowing how this ends. It means that regardless of the risks you take, you are personally promised a certain outcome.” Achilles spoke the words coolly as he came to stand at Helenus’ side. “Yet, that you would still attempt to defy fate means that you do not quite approve of the outcome you have been warned of. Perhaps I should take that as a sign that I do not need to be here, and that no truce is indeed required.”

“That you know I am defying fate as opposed to simply playing the role it has set me means that you know more about the events that will befall us all than you would let on,” Helenus replied just as coolly, unrolling a long stretch of parchment on the altar.

“Prophecies are not needed to see how this war will eventually play out.” Even as Achilles said the words, his thoughts flew almost instantly to his mother. “Although, I cannot see how your patron god would approve of this.”

“Which part?” It was said in an almost wry tone. “The challenging of fate? The treasonous alliance with an enemy? The plotting in his temple?” Blue eyes lifted from the parchment, appearing deadly serious as they were turned on Achilles. “What would you think if I told you that Apollo finds all of ‘this’ incredibly amusing?”

“I would think then that you have a very different relationship with your gods, here in Troy.”

Helenus snorted quietly but said no more, and both of their attention was turned fully to the altar this time, where the unravelled parchment turned out to be map of Troy and the surrounding area.

“The key to all this is to somehow convince both groups that they have won,” Helenus started, slips of golden hair falling across his shoulder as he leaned over the map. “The land to the south is fertile and rich in minerals. It however is not considered overly important to us in terms of property, as it has only been part of our kingdom for the last twenty or so years. It lacks the historical or mythical importance that my father appoints to the lands further north.” Slim fingers slowly drew an oblong shape around the area that he was offering. It was far enough south to not pose as a direct threat to the citadel, and trapped within its makeshift boundaries a harbour far more practical than the one that served the Trojans.

But there was a factor possibly more important than either of those.

“It should be a large enough slice to even allow Agamemnon to approve.” The size alone would possibly be enough to blind some of the King’s to the lack of importance the land served to the Trojans. “But you know as well as I do that random land and towns – no matter how possibly impressive – are not want they desire.” Or, more precisely, what Agamemnon wanted. “They will want the Dardanian strait.”

“And they cannot have it.” Helenus’ voice allowed for not even the slightest hint of argument. “You know that as well as I do, my father will never let the Greeks defeat him in such a manner. He would rather die first.” The last part was said with an almost grim humour that seemed almost out of place. Almost. “I can free the Achaean cities from having to pay taxes on the goods they take through the straits, and allow them to resume normally trading routes.”

As the night drew on, the candles flickered lower, dancing instead across mosaic floors as opposed to frescoes. It was only when light began to seep through the small, high windows that the map was once again rolled up, before carefully being slipped into a hidden compartment in the far wall by Helenus. Achilles simply watched as the other man silently removed all traces of their meeting from the room, alert eyes searching for any sign of fatigue or weariness, yet finding neither. It appeared that Helenus was also one familiar with long nights spent adrift from sleep. He wondered briefly what demon it was that possibly kept the prince up, before quickly deciding that that was dangerous territory far too risky to even contemplate.

“There is a festival here dedicated to Dionysus during the next full moon, you should be able to slip back in here easily then. I will have the child lead you again, she will wait for you at the same meeting spot.” With the slightest of waves of his hand, the young girl that had brought Achilles here was at his side once again, even though Achilles was certain she had not been in the temple throughout the duration of the night.

“First Apollo, now Dionysus. You seem to have far too little fear of the gods to be a priest.” His comment failed to draw any response from Helenus. Achilles then turned to the child, patting her gently on the head. “And I will not need the child’s help getting back to the camps, or here during the full moon. I memorised the way earlier.” That did bring a reaction, even if it was only the barely noticeable and slight widening of blue eyes. “Do not underestimate me, Prince of Troy. Neither of us are in a position where we can allow cockiness to cloud our thoughts.”

They were his final words as he turned and exited the temple, slinking through streets that were now as familiar to him as the ones back home. Little had been achieved after their initial agreement over the southern lands, but that had been expected. Peace was not something that could be plotted in one evening, but at least that appeared to be Helenus’ true intent, unless his reference to Dionysus had meant to allude to something darker than an ideal time to meet.

Not once had either of them mentioned Patroculus or Hector.

To be continued.