Aristoi Achaion [A the song of Achilles fanfiction] 2

Chapter 23

When I was born no one thought much of me. A daughter who happened to come along with a son, like a thorn who comes along with a rose, like rotten fruits who happen to come along with the ripe ones every year during the harvest. They at first thought that the fates not mentioning me in the prophecy concerning my brother was simply a sign of my unimportance. They even choose my name so it could fit his, not the other way around.
The story of how their view of me changed is one I would constantly hear. One night, when me and my brother were sleeping -it was only a few days after our birth, so my mother hadn't left the palace yet- in the nursery, a bird flew inside from the nearby window. Not any bird, an owl. The scared animal-symbol of the goddess Athena. The servant who was was watching over us informed my parents first thing in the morning. She didn't mention though that the bird has sat on my bedside, who would believe her anyway? They immediately knew it must have been a sign from the gods. My father was convinced that it surely meant my brother would be favored by Athena. I don't blame him, that's what anyonewould think. He sent a messenger to the oracle of Delphi to receive a prophecy. It was a long journey, Delphi is much southern than Phthia. Months past, a few, probably two or three but in time the man came back. After he was recovered from his trip, the king and queen were in the throne room awaiting for the answers the oracle had given him.
We bowed.
"Welcome back," my father greeted him.
"Thank you, your grace" the man seemed sceptical, the oracle's prophecy had confused him, he kept his gaze on the floor.
"Speak, what did the oracle reveal about my son?"there was this confidence in his smile, a father's pride for his son.
The man remaining silent.
"Will his legacy be so great that you are afraid to speak of it?"
The messenger swallowed.
"The oracle did speak of prince Achilles's great talent. She said he would indeed be one of the most skilled warriors this world has ever seen-"
"Well, that's just what we expected. I suppose the goddess Athena would also be his protector"
"The oracle did not speak of this,my lord" he swallowed once again.
"What did she speak of them?" My father asked impatiently.
"She said that as skilled as prince Achilles will be s-so will be princess Alcippe." An uncomfortable silence fell over the throne room. My father was roo stunned to interrupt the man's speech so he continued.
"She said that the daughter of Zeus, Athena herself has gifted the princess with this ability and both she and the prince would be the best of their generation"
"Do you swear that this is what you heard?"
"I swear it, my lord to the sacred river of Styx" the man swore, afraid he might get punished for saying the truth.
"Alright then, you are dismissed"
The man bowed deeply and left the room.
"Did you know of this? " He asked my mother who sat on the throne beside his, quietly.
"I did not" she admitted, twisting one of the rings on her fingers.
"Is that why you decided you will take her away?" His eyes narrow with disbelief.
"The reason I will do so is not because of her talent, it is to protect her from people like you"she hissed.
"Do you honestly think that I would ever allow anyone to hurt our daughter?She is a princess for gods's sake. She would be constantly protected"
"So when it's your own daughter you are concerned but when it was somebody's else's daughter you were everything but concerned"

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A/N: Some of this is written by MM I just altered it,
Here I am, seventeen years later. Ready to fulfill my destiny. We reached the port of Troy a few days after Lemnos.
We stood at the prow with Phoinix and Automedon, watching the shore draw closer. Idly, Achilles tossed and caught his spear, I was holding mine tightly as well -trying not to think of what it would cause-The oarsmen had begun to set their strokes by it, the steady, repetitive slap of wood against his palm.

Closer, we started to see distinction on the shore: tall trees and mountains resolving out of the blurring green-brown land. We had edged ahead of Diomedes and were a whole ship length in front of Meriones.

"There are men on the beach," Achilles said. He squinted. "With weapons."

Before I could respond, a horn blew from somewhere in the fleet, and others answered it. The alarm. On the wind came the faint echo of shouts. We had thought we would surprise the Trojans, but they knew we were coming. They were waiting for us.

All along the line, rowers jammed their oars into the water to slow our approach. The men on the beach were undoubtedly soldiers, all dressed in the dark crimson of the house of Priam. A chariot flew along their ranks, churning up sand. The man in it wore a horsehair helmet, and even from a distance we could see the strong lines of his body. He was large, yes, but not as large as Ajax or Menelaus. His power came from his carriage, his squared shoulders, this was undoubtedly Hector. But no matter how great of a warrior he was, I like to believe me and Achilles are far better.

He leapt from the chariot, shouting to his men. We saw spears hoisted and arrows nocked. We were still too far away for their bows, but the tide was dragging us in despite our oars, and the anchors were not catching. Shouts came down the line, in confusion. Agamemnon had no orders; hold position; do not make landfall.

"We are almost in range of their arrows," Achilles commented. He did not seem alarmed by it, and thought I thought I would be I truly was not,

I stared at the shore coming closer. Hector was gone now, back up the beach to a different part of his army. But there was another man before us, a captain, in leather armor and a full helmet that covered all but his beard. He pulled back the string of his bow as the line of ships drew closer. It was not as big a weapon as Philoctetes', but it was not far off. He sighted along the shaft and prepared to kill his first Greek.
He never had the chance. I did not see Achilles move, but I heard it: the whistle of air, and his soft exhalation. The spear was out of his hand and flying across the water that separated our deck from the beach.

Its black head pierced the bowman's chest, drove him backwards and over. His arrow twanged harmlessly into the air, shot wild from nerveless fingers. He fell to the sand and did not rise. Someone else tried, another man, thinking he would receive the glory how fellow Trojian didn't. He didn't make it either. It was me this time. My mind hesitated but my body did not. I throwed it just in the write angle for it to pierce right through the man's chest.

From the ships beside us, those who had seen, there were shouts and triumphant horns. The news flared along the line of Greek ships, in either direction: first blood was ours.

I forced my remorseful thoughts to quieten. This was a war there was no right or wrong. On the shore, the Trojans shook their weapons and shouted strange, harsh words. There was a group of them kneeling around the fallen man. Behind me I heard Phoinix whisper something to Automedon, who ran off. A moment later he reappeared with a handful of spears. Achilles took one without looking, hefted it, and threw. I did the same, over and over again. I didn't think I just aimed. And man after man fell on the beach because of our spears.

We were close now, and arrows began to fly on both sides. Many hit the water, others stuck in masts and hulls. A few men cried out along our line; a few men fell along theirs. Achilles calmly took a shield from Automedon. Patroclus took a spear and threw his did not reach as far as ours, he missed but only for a few inches.
A/N: I know in tsoa Patroclus is not described as a fighter but that is far from actual mythology so in this he will be described as one. That's why I excluded the part of the scene where Achilles asks him to stay behind him.

The soldiers grew wilder-their overeager arrows and spears littered the water. Somewhere down the line Protesilaus, Prince of Phylace, leapt laughing from the bow of his ship and began to swim to shore. Perhaps he was drunk; perhaps his blood was fired with hopes of glory; perhaps he wished to outdo us. A spinning spear, from Hector himself, hit him, and the surf around him flushed red. He was the first of the Greeks to die. Is that the best he could do? A man so close to the shore?

Our men slid down ropes, lifted huge shields to cover themselves from arrows, and began to stream to shore. The Trojans were well marshaled, but the beach offered no natural defense and we outnumbered them. At a command from Hector they seized their fallen comrades and relinquished the beach. Their point had been made: they would not be so easy to kill. But we were not easy to defeat either.