You Loved Me Still The Same
a Troy story
by Hermione Eveningfall
Paris' heart was racing a million beats a minute as Hector led him through the seemingly endless tunnels towards the palace entrance. The open wound on his right leg throbbed, bright red blood creating stains on the white stone and sand. He could hear the screams, the clashing of shield and spear from the battle still raging between his people and the Spartans, and wanted more than anything to dissapear through a hole in the ground. He made a complete fool of himself, challenging Menelaus when he did not have the proper combat experience. Oh of course, Paris knew his reasons for the challenge, and thinking of it embarassed him further. Not only had he completely shamed his family, but he proved he was nothing more than a coward to Helen.
"Come, my brother. I know you ail, but your chambers are not far off now, and we must get you there quickly." Hector encouraged, pitying his younger sibling. He'd tried to stop the battle before it began, knowing that the lad was falling ill. Paris caught cold the previous night, and dissolved in bouts of sneezing and coughing all morning. His senses clearly were not up to par when the King of Sparta's brother made the first charge, but being young and impuslive, Paris took the fight on himself anyway.
When they reached the bedroom, Hector half carried, half- drug the boy towards the bed, allowing Paris to lean heavily on his shoulder while he pulled down the blankets. The elder could hear footsteps echoing their own, and glanced over his shoulder towards the door once Paris lay down as comfortably as he could. Helen entered, her long golden hair swishing about her shoulders. Her silver-tinted green eyes were filled with worry as she dashed over to the bed, bending low to smooth the sweaty forehead of her charge. She inspected the injury, and ordered Hector in her sweet but firm voice to fetch luke warm water and fresh towels. When he left, Paris struggled to lift his upper body so he could see her.
"I am so sorry," Paris gulped, gritting his teeth as she touched his thigh gently with her fingertips. Helen shook her head, taking his hand in her own.
"No, my dear love, do not be sorry."
Hector returned with the necessary items, and left Helen to tend to his brother while he returned to aid his people. When the room became silent, Paris lay back against his pillows sighing softly. "I am a coward," he whispered, "I have failed you." He turned away, his dark grey eyes misting a bit. Helen bathed the wound with the clean water, jumping a bit as he cried out at the sting.
"Shhhhsh." She soothed, once he settled, bearing his teeth in discomfort. He swallowed past his raw throat, fighting the pending cough that tormented him. Helen raised her eyes as she worked, a tiny smile caressing her pale, sweet lips. "You are not a coward to me, my dear one. To even attempt to fight the great Melenaus took great courage."
Paris frowned at her, not understanding. "It was more of a skirmish..." he sniffled, pressing the back of his blood-splattered hand against his running nose. She did not seem to notice, much to his relief, for now she was preparing to stitch up the injury as best as she could with a tiny, clear piece of string. Her slender, nimble fingers moved swiftly and smoothly, and he found it quite incredible that she did not flinch in the least at the sight of scarred flesh. Finally, unable to hold it back anymore, Paris snapped forward with a rather harsh sneeze. "Huh-Ishhhh! Eh-shhhhh!"
Helen stared at him in surprise, her hand halfway in the air. When he composed himself, Paris found his cheeks burning as he turned back to face her again. "My apologies," he whispered, and she only giggled.
"Of course. I do hope you are not becoming ill of all things!" she made the first stitch, which caused him to grimace, but he bore the pain as best as he could.
"Do not change the subject," he begged, leaning on his elbow. "Helen, I..."
She bit the end of the string once the final knot was tied, and held up her hand as if to silence him. She climbed up onto the bed once moving his leg out of harms way, and touched the sides of his face. "Paris. You did not win this battle I know. But, the man I feared the most now lies dead." She brushed a few stray locks away from his forehead, planting a gentle, loving kiss there. "You did not need to end the fight as a hero. I am honoured that you care so much for me as to risk your life."
He did not smile, only rested his forehead against hers, sighing. "Helen. We must get away. We...we must..." his breath hitched, giving her the hint to move away, for the inevitable was to happen. "Ishhhhh! Eh-hushhhh!" he groaned, beads of sweat popping out on his forehead. Helen finished the last stitch on his wound, before packing her things and setting them on the floor. Paris lowered his head as she crawled onto the feather mattress, her gold and silver jewelry clinking together as she moved towards him. Before he could apologize again, she lowered her lips to his, rolling over onto her side and pulling him close. Mindful of his leg, Paris passionately moving his hands along her breasts, her chest, her stomach. She was so beautiful, so breathtakingly beautiful.
"No matter where we go," Helen whispered between kisses, "They will find us. They will hunt us down and will do anything and everything to find us."
Paris broke the kiss, his dark eyes pleading. "I could not go on without you, Helen. Wherever you go, I will follow."
Helen did not lower her gaze as she stroked his warm forehead with her fingertips. "I know you would." She lowered her body beside his, laying her head on his chest. "I can hear your heart beating," she whispered, resting the palm of her hand against it. "It is like the sound of a drum in the distance." She sighed as Paris ran his own hand down her bare shoulder, reaching up then to touch the delicate seashell necklace he had given her the night of the grand party.
Soon, the itch was back in his nose, and he had to turn away. "P-pardon m-me," he gasped. "Huh-Ishhhh! Etchhhhuh!"
Helen lifted her head, feeling his cheek again, and frowned deeply. "My sweet one, a fever begins to rage within. You must rest or you will take worse." She slid down from the bed, checking his leg wound before pulling the blankets over him. "I do not wish for you to be cold," she told him as he gave a bit of a shudder to prove her point.
He gazed at her, a faint smile crossing his lips. "It is a blessing from the Gods in deed, that I have you to nurse me, Helen. No words can describe how joyous I feel."
Helen pulled an old chair beside the bed, taking his hand and kissing it tenderly. "Your love is all I need," she replied, watching as the young prince's eyes closed and listened to the steady sound of his breathing. Once she was certain he slept soundly, she stood and walked over to the window. Stars glittered over the darkened streets of Troy, and a gentle breeze calmed her. `At last,' she thought, feeling more at peace with herself than she ever had. `My own star has been found.'
The character's names and places do not belong to me. They are the original property of the author Homer, but this story is movie-verse rather than book verse. (I've never read the book so I couldn't write it book verse even if I wanted ;o)) I am only borrowing these characters and promise to return them! also, the title of this fic I got from Enya's song "You loved me still the same."