Day One of the Siege

Perseus told anyone who asked that he didn't like killing, which was why Achilles was so surprised when he was shown to be so proficient at it. Chiron had told him more than once that Perseus was the most dangerous man alive, and that even Achilles, perhaps the greatest swordsman alive, would be no match should they meet on opposite sides of the field. He loved Chiron, he truly did, but he hadn't believed him when he first met Perseus. The man was wearing a dusty cloak over his simple armour, and his skin was tanned from his work in the sun. He had the look of a peasant, not a killer.

That perception changed on the beaches. The Trojans had erected fortifications to hold the Achaeans back as long as possible. If only that had been their only problem. The prophet Calchas had decreed that the first man to set foot on the earth of Troy was destined to die. Perseus had laughed loudly at this and then thrown himself over the edge of the ship, swimming towards the shore. Somehow, between leaving the ship and walking out of the surf, his plain armour had been replaced with a resplendent bronze set, the most beautiful armour that Achilles had ever seen. The Trojans seemed baffled by the singular warrior walking towards them, sword twirling in one hand, shield held in the other. To be fair, so were many of the Achaeans.

"Gods be good, follow that man!" Menelaus barked, and oars began chopping the water, as ships moved to get to the beach. The first man to drop to the beach after Perseus was Palamedes, who was quickly killed by an arrow to the throat. There was barely a pause to consider what had happened as others followed, forming battle lines on the beach.

By that point, Perseus had already killed near on two dozen men. Achilles had watched silently from the foredeck of his ship as the demigod cut his way through the Trojan lines. A cavalry charge stopped short, throwing their horses from the saddle, killing more than one. An arrow fell short of him by less than an arm's length, and a sword just barely missed his neck, before the man wielding it found himself without an arm below his elbow. By now, the Trojans were panicking. One man had caused immeasurable damage, and the rest of the Achaeans were barely ready for an assault.

A horn blew loudly, and the Trojans began a slow retreat. Perseus stopped where he was, in the middle of a circle of corpses. He watched the Trojans retreat silently, before snatching a spear from the ground and launching it in a perfect arc. One of the soldiers riding away slumped in his saddle, before falling off.

And just like that, the beach was taken. Achilles ordered his Myrmidons to unload and set up a camp, eyes never leaving the immortal demigod standing on top a dune, surrounded by dead Trojans, gaze locked on the city.

"Perseus!" He called out, drawing the attention of the man. "You fought like a demon, old man. Did Chiron teach you?"

Perseus chuckled silently.

"Only the bow," he murmured, "and in return, I taught him the sword. It was mutually beneficial. I imagine you'll use many of the techniques I taught him. Perhaps we can spar at some point."

"Perhaps," Achilles nodded. He could tell the demigod wanted to be left alone, so he instead went to go find the council of kings, who had been meeting in Agamemnon's tent. He hadn't wanted to go, but now he knew he had no choice. The Myrmidons would be essential the Achaean strategy, and he wanted to make sure his men weren't killed for no reason.

Unsurprisingly, Agamemnon was annoyed when he showed up unannounced, but he knew better than to say anything. Not to him.

"We were discussing our assault tomorrow," Menelaus said, and Achilles tipped his head in acknowledgement. While Agamemnon was disliked by many for his imperialistic ambitions, Menelaus was renowned for being a fair king, despite having taken Sparta by force when he was only fifteen. If it had been Menelaus in charge of the war, Achilles suspected even more men would have joined them. "The consensus seems to be that we will win this fight quickly."

"Where is Perseus?" Nestor asked, "I saw him on the dunes earlier, but not since he claimed the beach for us."

There was a subtle twitch in Agamemnon's jaw, but he remained silent for now.

"He was still there last I talked to him, less than an hour ago," Achilles offered, "I can retrieve him, if you wish?"

"There is no need," Agamemnon said, waving a guard over, "I will send a man to summon him."

"I would not advise that," Nestor said, "Perseus will not take kindly to you summoning him. Thrasymedes, my boy, if you would ask Perseus to join us?"

"Of course, father," the young prince rose from his seat, ducking out the tent.

"You should not pamper Perseus so, Nestor," Agamemnon stated with a frown. "He is under our service."

"He is under my service," the king of Pylos corrected, "and only because he knows I respect him more than he respects me. I will not demand anything of him, just as he will not demand anything of me."

Agamemnon opened his mouth, but then closed it. After several more moments, Thrasymedes returned with Perseus in tow. His armour was no longer caked in sand and blood, and Achilles took the opportunity to examine it. The cuirass was made of two pieces, a front and backplate, held together by straps on the shoulders and waist, with scenes from the history of the gods and Greece etched into the metal. He could see Poseidon summoning a storm with his Trident, Zeus throwing his bolt, even Hades vanishing into smoke. The work was exquisite. The vambraces were lined with felt, and while not as extensively worked, still had different images carved into them.

The symbols of the gods, Achilles realised. There was an eagle for Zeus, a trident for Poseidon, a helm for Hades. There was an owl for Athena and a boar for Ares, a deer and a laurel wreath for Artemis and Apollo. A caduceus for Hermes, and a hammer for Hephaestus. A dove for Aphrodite. Finally, there was a peacock for Hera, and a stalk of Corn for Demeter. It seemed Perseus went with the blessings of all the gods. In addition, Perseus was the only Achaean who wasn't a king to wear a purple plume on his helm, which compared to the rest of his armour was simply plain.

"You requested my presence, my lord?" Perseus addressed Nestor, bowing his head in greeting.

"We've been discussing our assault," Nestor smiled at Perseus, "we do not think we will be here long."

"My father built the walls of Troy," Perseus noted, "and Apollo helped. If they retreat behind them, you would not be able to breach them."

"Then we must defeat them on the field of battle," Menelaus stated, "and we must outnumber them immensely."

"I would not be so optimistic," Perseus said slowly, "to the east, the Hittites watch events here. Troy may not be an ally, but they are trading partners. Dardania to the north has sent support, and I met their king, Aeneas, when I was here last. The Lycians led by Sarpedon have made camp on the plains of Ilus. The Carians, Maeonians, Phrygians, and Thrakians have sent forces. The Ciconian and Pelasgian spearmen have arrived, as have Paeonian archers. Their forces may not match ours in number, but they are all skilled, and are in turn led by skilled warriors."

"Respectfully, Perseus," Agamemnon began, "but we are skilled as well. I have conquered thirteen kingdoms alone! My brother four."

"Only thirteen?" Perseus asked, eyebrow cocked, "forgive me, your knowledge on warfare supersedes my millennia of life tremendously. How foolish of my for not bowing down to your superior wisdom, King Agamemnon."

"That's enough, Perseus," Nestor said gently beside him, "we, of course, acknowledge your wisdom, and take it in mind, but surely we can defeat them?"

"Oh, no I have no doubt of that," Perseus replied, "I just do not believe you will defeat them tomorrow. We will be here for some time, I fear."

Day Two of the Siege

The armies lined up across from each other, and Perseus had been correct. There were more Trojans than they had expected, and their generals were riding up and down the lines on their chariots. Achilles himself was on his own chariot, a simple but sturdy construction, Patroclus by his side as always. Nestor was chosen to anchor the right flank, but that was mostly because Perseus was among the warriors, commanding a chariot of his own.

"Achilles!" Perseus called out to him.

"Aye?"

"I'll wager that I get more kills than you," he said, his horses pulling his chariot to him without any command. "And I'm willing to wager my armour."

Achilles blinked. He didn't think he would win that wager, but a chance for armour that beautiful? He had to take it.

"If you'll allow it, I'll take you on that wager as well, Wise Perseus!" Diomedes called out.

"Oh, it's an open offer, my friends," Perseus laughed back. "I doubt any of you will top me, however!"

And then a horn blew. It was Agamemnon, signalling the attack. The chariots cleared the soldiers first, Perseus leading the Achaean charge. With a jerk, just before his horses reached the Trojan lines they veered right, and the demigod leapt out of his chariot, slamming into a Trojan soldier. Once more, Perseus had first blood. And second, and third, and—Achilles realised that he needed to start killing if he wanted that armour. He too jumped from his chariot, rolling to his feet, before ducking under a sword, gutting the man who had dared attack him. Another man came at him with a spear, and he opened that man's throat. A spray of blood covered his face, and he grinned. If there was one thing that Achilles loved the most in the world, it was battle.

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Helen watched the battle from the walls. She could see many of the kings from both sides. Menelaus and Agamemnon were standing side by side, and while she wished her former husband no ill, she hoped someone struck his brother down. The world would be a better place without him in it. She could see bold Diomedes and cunning Odysseus carving a dent in the left flank of the Trojan forces, and Achilles and his Myrmidons buckling the centre. On the right, Wise Nestor and his men were following a trail opened by Perseus, who seemed intent on getting to the walls of Troy itself. Dozens of men were throwing themselves in his path in a hope to slow him down, yet none seemed to last very long.

The other Achaeans could see this, and it made them fight harder, for reasons that Helen couldn't fathom. Whatever words she had seen Perseus exchange with them, it made them bloody and ruthless. Or perhaps they truly were willing to fight that hard to retrieve her? She must have had a troubled look on her face, because Paris reached over and took her hand in his own.

"Fear not, my love," he said, "Hektor will beat the Achaeans back, and you will never have to return to Sparta."

Helen nodded silently, her thoughts racing, but it was Priam's gasp that drew her focus once more.

"Is that Pylaemenes?" He asked. Helenus leaned forward, before nodding at his father. "Why is the fool challenging Perseus?"

Helen looked to the bulge in Trojan lines that indicated Perseus' position, and sure enough, a singular man was approaching him, a spear levelled at him. There was an exchange of words, and eventually, Perseus gave a very clear shrug. Pylaemenes' spear shot out, but Perseus pinned it to the earth before snapping it with his foot. Priam's brother-by-law drew a sword and charged Perseus again.

Helen didn't even see him move. He just… leaned to the side, and then Pylaemenes stumbled past him, collapsing in the sand a few paces behind where Perseus had been standing. Priam was gripping the edge of the walls tightly, and Hecuba rested a hand on his shoulder. A cheer erupted from the Achaean lines, and a horn sounded from Hektor's position. The Trojan rallied and assaulted. Helen closed her eyes for a moment. This would go back and forth for hours.

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The battle had indeed gone back and forth for hours, at least until Aeneas led a brilliant counter attack against Menelaus position, threatening to push the Spartan king back to the ships. Both sides had finally retired, the Greeks back to the beach, the Trojans to their camps around the city. Hektor rode back in being cheered by the people, but Helen had seen the look on his face. It was one of a man who knew what was coming but didn't like it.

She hadn't been present at the war council, but Paris had, and he had stormed out in anger. He had yet to visit her, but Helen had a feeling that she had been the subject that had enraged him so. Helen loved him, she was certain of that, but she felt as if Paris didn't see her any differently than Menelaus had—as a possession. She sighed, pushing the door to her room open, before closing it behind her.

"Hello, Helen," the voice was quiet, but she recognised it instantly, whirling around. "Don't scream, for both our sakes."

She didn't think she would have been able regardless, but she obeyed.

"Perseus," she greeted in return. The ancient demigod grinned at her.

"I see that Paris isn't here," he noted, "such a shame. I was told that he loved you deeply."

"How did you get here?" She asked shakily.

"You'll have to be more specific, my dear," he chided gently, "if you mean Troy, well, some little prick of a prince thought that stealing the Queen of Sparta was a wise decision. If you mean into the city proper, and your room in particular? Well that was easy. I climbed the walls and then walked here. The guards are abysmal."

"Are you taking me back to Menelaus?" she asked.

"I could, but I won't." Perseus replied, standing up. "It wouldn't matter, either. Blood has been spilt. The Achaeans are honour bound to see this siege through. You, on the other hand, need to see the consequences of your actions. Aphrodite doesn't care for anyone in this city, and she won't care when it's sacked. You're going to watch it all happen. While we choke the life out of Troy, you will watch, and when I storm this miserable city, you'll see what you have brought upon these people. In the end, Helen, I want you to remember that this is your fault—yours and that pathetic worm of a prince."

He walked past her, and exited through a window. Perseus didn't even glance over his shoulder before he vanished from sight. Helen could barely think, she was shaking so hard. She collapsed to the floor and started sobbing. That was how Paris found her. When he asked her what had happened, she had replied with the only word she knew to describe the situation.

Apollyon. The Destroyer.

MMXVIII

There we go! Sorry for the wait between chapters, I'm on my last week of school. I have two more exams on Tuesday and then I'm done for summer! After which I go to college, which is a whole other situation. Anyway, this chapter was through the perspective of two of the most important people in the Illiad, Achilles and Helen. I'm personally of the belief that Helen did love Paris at first, but it soon faded when she realised that Aphrodite had intervened, and when the Trojan War began. I find it really amusing when I read things about how Paris is so much better than Menelaus because he sees Helen as a person, but he really doesn't. From the beginning, she was a prize to him for giving Aphrodite the Golden Apple.

Onto Achilles. The king of Thessaly and commander of the Myrmidons. I know that Troy (2004) said that Patroclus was his cousin, but warning, they're gay as fuck for each other. That is pretty much the consensus by anyone who knows anything about Mycenean Greece, and specifically the Trojan War/Illiad.

Lastly, the spelling I use. Hektor can be used interchangibly with Hector. I like Hektor because it looks ye olde. Anyway, that's my message to the readers over. I'll try to get another chapter out tomorrow or Sunday, or maybe both. But Monday/Tuesday I will be doing Exam stuff. Pray for me my friends, because the end is nigh.

Cheers, CombatTombat