Return to Life - Chapter 22
Title: Return to Life Chapter 22

Author: goldarrow

Fandom: Troy

Pairing: Odysseus/Paris

Warning for this chapter: None

Rating: Adult

Disclaimer: I own nothing, and mean no harm. I make no money from this, my only reward is enjoyment.

Story summary: Paris is captured and taken to Mycenae, where Odysseus finds him.

This chapter: The truth doesn’t set you free.

Notes: Movieverse, and AU in that 1. neither Menelaus nor Agamemnon died from their wounds, and 2. Odysseus only took 6 months to make it back to Greece.


Chapter 22

Feeling came back first: the harshness of the metal against his wrists, the strain of wrenched shoulders bearing his entire weight, the iciness of the stone against his back. Hearing was next: the jingle of the iron links as he pushed himself up to stand on shaking legs, the rustle of fabric from his tunic as he leaned harder against the stone to remain upright, the soft moan from his left as the one who shared this nightmare with him awakened. Odysseus tasted the remains of the guest wine, sour on his tongue, smelled the muskiness of the bitter cold air, and opened his eyes, to see only darkness, and not the face of his lover.

Sight, it seemed, would be the only sense denied him. “Oh, gods,” he whispered, as the turning of his head to track the sounds from his companion made his blood pound, massive drumbeats of agony biting into his brain. He froze, every muscle in his body going into spasm at the pain. It didn’t help; in fact, it made it worse – every pulse from his heart echoed through him to take root at the base of his skull. He took a slow, deep breath, then released it, deliberately relaxing every muscle on the exhalation, feeling the agony fade to a bearable level as the tightness eased.

The moan from his companion in distress faded into a whimper that he recognized. “Relax, love,” Odysseus whispered. “Take slow, deep breaths. It will help.” A strangled sob was his only answer, but he could hear Paris trying to obey. After a few minutes, their breathing slowed and synchronized, and the pain began to die away like the tides receding across the reefs of home.

“What happened?” Paris’s voice was shaking, the rustle of cloth testifying to the tremors of chilled fear he couldn’t suppress.

“Your king is a fool.” The thought that he had been so easily tricked burned in him. He had believed Alkmeus. Believed every word the lying bastard had spoken at dinner. His words were bitter on his tongue. “Our ally, it seems, has betrayed us.”

He remembered last night.

They’d gone down to dinner together, Paris the requisite 2 steps behind his king as they entered the room. A few couches were set up, scattered around the small area, and food appropriate for eating with the fingers laid out on tables against the far wall. Servants awaited their pleasure. Alkmeus smiled, moving quickly to the door to greet them.

“Odysseus, King of Ithaca, be welcome in my home.” The formal words of Astakon greeting fell easily from his lips. Here was a man used to walking amongst the elite.

“Alkmeus, King of Astakos, your welcome honors me.” Pleased at the surprised joy shown by the Astakons for his knowledge of their customs, Odysseus inclined his head in return.

Alkmeus led the way over to the seat of respect, a couch set to the right of his own. “I trust you will not object if we dine rather informally tonight,” he said quietly. “I thought you might prefer it, after your long trip.”

“I do. Thank you for your consideration.” Odysseus sank onto the couch and pulled Paris down to sit next to him. “Lean on me,” he whispered, as Alkmeus took his seat on his own couch and gestured for the servants to pour wine. Paris relaxed against his king, thinking that it would be nice if they could dine like this every night. It was comfortable.

Once they were seated, Alkmeus introduced his wife and sons, who had been waiting patiently for notice before moving to their own couches, and finally, his principle advisor, Eremos. The talk turned to general topics, the heavy storms this year, the crops, the troupes of entertainers who were traveling through the kingdoms.

When all were sated, Alkmeus gestured for the servants to leave, and his wife rose to pour a last round of wine. She gestured for the youngest boy to join her, bowed to Odysseus and left the room, leaving Alkmeus, his eldest son and his advisor to stare gravely at Paris, who rapidly became uncomfortable under the scrutiny. He swallowed hard enough for Odysseus to hear him.

The king smiled. “Paris is loyal. I trust him with my life.” The wine in his goblet became the focus of his attention as he gathered his thoughts. “This has been a difficult year,” he began, looking up again to catch Alkmeus’s eye. “The war with Troy, in which so many died, the voyage home, which took so long.”

“I heard of that,” Alkmeus said gravely. “It was rumored that you would never return.”

“That sort of rumor has been used to advantage many times,” the Ithacan responded dryly.

Alkmeus laughed. “Indeed it has.”

“Regaining control of my kingdom.” Odysseus took a deep breath. Now for the kicker. “And then the attempt at murdering me.”

All the Astakons sat up at that, the king and his son trading incredulous glances, while Eremos swelled up in indignation. “Do you accuse- ?”

Odysseus shook his head, but spoke to the king of Astakos rather than his advisor. “I do not accuse you, Alkmeus. I know you had nothing to do with it. I know who tried. And it is that knowledge that brings me here to you today. With a warning.”

This time the glances were confused. “I – I don’t understand.” Alkmeus actually stuttered.

“You and I are in the same boat,” Odysseus replied obliquely. “Neither one of us has the manpower or the land formations to effectively protect our people from a determined attack by a trained enemy. We had no choice but to unite ourselves with a stronger ally.”

Alkmeus studied his wine, unwilling to admit what sounded to him perilously like cowardice.

Odysseus grinned faintly. At least the man hadn’t thrown him out. “We were both trained from childhood to believe that our people were of paramount importance. That our own pride must never take the reins in any journey to a decision. Our history and lineage demand it.”

“That is so.”

“I allied myself with Agamemnon for the safety of my people. I knew he could overrun us easily, and I believed at the time that it was better to be a part of the side of strength.”

Alkmeus nodded.

“Unfortunately, I discovered that Agamemnon doesn’t want allies. He wants subjects.”

Alkmeus and his son both sighed, and Odysseus relaxed a little. They were with him. “I objected to him interfering in my kingdom, attempting to influence my wife, making his own plans for my people. I told him that I would fight for him, but that my kingdom was my own; had been my family’s for generations. He agreed.”

Pausing for a sip of wine, he studied his audience. They were showing signs of confusion again. Good. Time to hit them. “He agreed, but a few days later someone tried to kill me.”

“How?” That was Eremos, the court advisor.

“My horse was poisoned. A herb that it would be impossible to add to his feed accidentally. It sent him mad, and he threw me, almost to my death.”

“And how do you know it was Agamemnon who did this?” Eremos, again. It seemed that the King of Astakos wouldn’t be rude to a guest by questioning him, even under these trying circumstances.

“The groom was hired by my wife, on Agamemnon’s suggestion, and he disappeared after I was thrown.” Odysseus shrugged. “Besides, there’s no one else I’ve crossed, no one else who would have any reason to wish me dead.”

“Not even the Trojans?” This time it was Alkmeus’s son who spoke. His father gave him a sharp glance, but allowed it.

A wince from Paris told Odysseus that the question had struck him painfully, the words a knife in his heart. “There are no Trojans in positions to do me harm who would want to do so,” he said quietly. “That was the first thing I checked. Any who might have had access to the herbs had no access to the feed, and any who had access to the feed couldn’t have gotten the herbs. And the two sets had no opportunity to meet.”

Eremos pursed his lips. “It would seem that you have investigated thoroughly. But why would Agamemnon wish to be rid of you? It was you who gave him Troy.”

Paris flinched again, and Odysseus sat up to run a hand comfortingly down his back. “And then took over his greatest prize when he thought he no longer wanted it, and also ordered him to stay away from my lands.” He took a last swallow of his dinner wine and set the cup aside. “It is no longer enough that I fight under his command, he wants me to be completely subservient. And that I cannot, in all conscience, be. So, if he would kill me to control my lands, then he is either greedy or unstable, and to follow such a man would end in the destruction of my people. It almost has, once already.” Setting his hand on Paris’s thigh in silent apology for returning to the subject of Troy, he spoke of something that had horrified him, so much that he’d never mentioned it before. “At the gates of Troy, when they’d thrown us back, Agamemnon swore he would take the city, even if it cost him forty thousand Greek lives. That is not the statement of a true leader of men. It is not the statement of a man who values life or honor in any way.”

Alkmeus sighed. “I have wondered for some time,” he admitted. “I have seen how he acts. What is your suggestion?” His advisor opened his mouth, but Alkmeus waved him down. “He is right, Eremos. Agamemnon cannot be trusted.”

“My suggestion is simple,” Odysseus said soberly. “And that is that we join together in telling Agamemnon that we will no longer fight for him. It will take more than just the two of us. We must have a majority of the kings who follow him right now.”

That made Alkmeus nod. “True. We cannot prevail without more backing. I can send messages to others. With both our voices joined, they will be more likely to pay heed.” He grinned. “I will not, however, send to Sparta.”

Odysseus gave a crack of laughter. “I should hope not!” He stroked Paris’s arm to distract him, hoping that the boy’s snort of amusement had gone unnoticed.

Eremos stood abruptly. “I will compose the messages immediately,” he said as he headed for the door. “They will be ready to go out within the hour.”

“Thank you.” Alkmeus waved his advisor out of the room. “Odysseus, King of Ithaca.”

Odysseus stood, missing the warmth of Paris’s body against his, but matching the sudden formality of the Astakon. “Alkmeus, King of Astakos.”

“To our own alliance.”

“Equality, and mutual defense.” Odysseus raised his cup. “Defense, only.”

“Indeed.” Alkmeus smiled at his son, and the boy grinned back. “It is well done, indeed.”

Paris yawned, then blushed red when everyone stared at him. “S-Sorry,” he whispered, shrinking.

Odysseus laughed, but it turned into his own yawn. When he was able to finally close his mouth, he looked at the Astakons, who were doing their best not to join him. “My lords, this has been a pleasant and fruitful evening, but I think it’s time for me to retire.”

Alkmeus rose with alacrity. “Odysseus, thank you for this meeting. Please, rest well.” He waved for a servant to lead them out.

The Ithacan headed for his chambers, trailed by one extremely tired slave. He wrapped an arm around Paris’s shoulders. “Holding up?”

“Almost,” Paris said softly. “I’m really tired. And very stiff,” he added thoughtfully as his legs rebelled at the stairs in front of him.

Odysseus laughed and pulled Paris’s arm over his own shoulder to brace him. “One step at a time, love.” Together they made it to the top of the flight. Arriving at their chambers, they dismissed the servant and Odysseus poured them some wine from the carafe sitting in cool water on the table by the huge, sybaritic bed. “This should relax us for the night.”

Paris clambered onto the soft mattress and bounced a few times, before the movement reminded him harshly of his bruised buttocks. “Ouch,” he grimaced, taking the wine from his king.

They saluted each other and drank. Paris stuck out his tongue and shuddered. “Yuck. What kind of herbs did they put in this? It tastes foul.”

“Bloody fool.” Odysseus barely had time to mutter the words before the darkness crashed over him like an eclipse, smothering his fury under a blanket of harsh black.

“What do you think he plans?” Paris did his best to stop his voice from shaking, unsuccessfully. Though he was managing to hide his fear fairly well, the chill of the dank air was making him shiver uncontrollably.

In spite of his surety that Paris knew very well what Alkmeus planned, Odysseus couldn’t find it in his heart to chide the boy. “Most likely, he’ll turn us over to Agamemnon as tribute.”

“I’m sorry,” Paris whispered.

Odysseus jerked his head around quickly enough to cause another bout of painful throbbing. He had to hiss breath out between his teeth before he could control himself enough for speech. “You have nothing to apologize for! This is in no way your fault.”

“If it hadn’t been for me, he wouldn’t have turned on you.”

The innocent hubris of that statement brought a chuckle from the king’s lips. “Don’t flatter yourself, love. As special as you are, you didn’t have much to do with it. Didn’t you hear me at dinner? He was ready to turn on me before Troy fell. Forty thousand Greeks. I think he mistrusted me, even then. I’ve been a fool all along, thinking I could get away with manipulating him.”

“And if I hadn’t fallen for Helen, you wouldn’t have been there, camped on the beaches of Troy, trying to cope with a madman.”

Odysseus wasn’t sure whether the sullenness of the boy’s tone was caused by self-hatred, or simply because he hadn’t been considered important enough to start a fight over – after all, Helen had been. He fought back another laugh. It wouldn’t do to belittle Paris; he was feeling fragile enough, right now. “If it hadn’t been Helen, it would have been something else. Agamemnon had wanted to take out Troy for years. And he was ripe for any excuse. You played into his hands, yes, but it would have happened sooner or later, anyway.”

“I know.” No longer sullen, Paris sounded simply exhausted. “I’m tired. Tired of being a pawn in other men’s fights.”

“We’re all pawns,” Odysseus countered. “If not of men, then of the gods.” He stopped and his head lifted as he listened intently for a moment, then whistled in a strange, haunting trill.

Paris shivered and drew back slightly, before he heard the warble turned on its head and returned from somewhere outside, the sound doubly poignant with the notes sounded in counterpoint.

“My lord? Is that you?” The voice echoed from across the hallway.

Odysseus cursed softly before replying. “It is, Sinon. Are you injured?”

“No, my lord. We are well.” There was a slight scuffling sound, and then a muffled mutter, before Sinon’s voice returned, quivering a little with either amusement or cold, the king couldn’t tell. “As well as we can be, tied to the wall, anyway.”

Paris snorted, and Odysseus allowed his laugh to sound loudly enough that Sinon and his men could hear it. “Is everyone there?”

“Yes, lord. All of us. Unfortunately.”

“Unfortunately, indeed.” The hope that at least one of his men had managed to slip away died. “Listen, Sinon, you mustn’t fight them. Keep your head down and your lips laced. Don’t give them any reason to pay close attention to you.”

“I understand, my lord.”

Odysseus fell silent, hearing the sound of footsteps echoing from the walls as what seemed to be a large number of men approached.

“Well, well. I’m surprised at you. I really thought you had more sense than this, Odysseus.” Agamemnon’s fruity tones oozed sarcasm, rasping Odysseus’s nerves like a cat’s fur being rubbed backwards.

The Ithacan shrugged, squinting in the light of the torches that outlined the chunky figure of the high King. “We do what we deem necessary,” he replied quietly. Damn. In spite of the fact that he’d known, deep down, that Alkmeus had betrayed them, a tiny light had continued to flicker, keeping the hope alive that Agamemnon wouldn’t come. The presence of the high King snuffed that hope.

“That we do.” Agamemnon walked into the room, grinning. “And you’ve lost your so-vaunted ability to read people, Ithacan. To think you didn’t even realize that your host was playing you. Tsk, tsk. It’s sad, really.”

Odysseus gritted his teeth. What was more painful even than the high King’s words was the fact that he was only echoing Odysseus’s own thoughts.

Agamemnon laughed. “Oh, I’m well aware that the man hates me, almost as much as you do, I’m sure. But he, at least, has sense enough to be afraid. You used to be. But you’ve played your games and won so often that you got cocky. And now you’ve stumbled over your own cleverness.”

He gestured his men forward to surround Odysseus and Paris. “I told you once before that I needed to be sure of you. And now I shall.” He reached out to grasp Odysseus around the neck, squeezing just enough to darken the Ithacan’s vision.

Pride was the only thing that kept Odysseus upright. He was damned if he was going to show weakness or fear to this filthy toad.

Agamemnon smiled, an expression that wasn’t reassuring in the least. “First, I’m going to teach you one lesson: just how foolish it was for you to turn against me. Damn it, man, we could have united Greece under us and ruled the entire known world. Instead, you let your petty pride get in the way.” Regaining command, he shrugged and released the Ithacan. “And so, once you’ve learned just how stupid you are, then I’ll make sure none of you can turn against me again.”

“You cannot kill us all.” Odysseus kept his voice even. “Word will get around. And the more you tighten your grip on your subjects, the more control will slip through your fingers.”

“Word will get around, all right.” Agamemnon ignored the threat. After all, it was made by someone completely under his power. “But the word that gets around will be the word I want to get around. You will leave here, alive and well, according to all reports. And somewhere between Astakos and Ithaca, your ship will, sadly, be lost with all hands.” His smile widened, becoming an expression that held no amusement whatsoever. “All hands, except one, of course.” He turned to eye Paris, who froze like a rabbit in torchlight, eyes wide and stricken as he stared back at the gloating high King.

At that moment, Odysseus lost every bit of pride he’d ever possessed. For the first time in his life, he begged. “Please. You cannot do this. Kill me, yes, if you must. But spare my people. Let them return to Ithaca; I give you my word they’ll never turn against you. Please.”

“Your people?” Agamemnon turned back to Odysseus. “Only your people? Not your slaves?”

One quick glance at the terrified Paris was all Odysseus allowed himself. “My slaves are my people as well, Agamemnon,” he said quietly. “They are part of Ithaca. And part of me. Please. I beg you, let them go. I won’t fight you.”

“Oh, you won’t fight me,” Agamemnon agreed. “You won’t fight me because it won’t do a damned bit of good. Because I’m going to destroy you personally.” Never had Odysseus seen such vindictiveness. “And when you’re bloodied and beaten, knocking weakly at the gates of Hades, you’ll know that your men won’t be far behind. But your whore, well, it’ll be a while before he joins you.”

Odysseus closed his eyes, but couldn’t block out the triumph he saw on Agamemnon’s face, or the fear that made Paris tremble like the last leaf on a bare branch caught in the winds of late autumn.

TBC