No One But You

Chapter Four : Learning To Breathe

Hello, good morning, how you been?
Yesterday left my head kicked in
I never, never thought that
I would fall like that
Never knew that I could hurt this bad'

Switchfoot, 'Learning to Breathe'

Paris stopped outside Briseis door the next afternoon, listening for a sound inside. He had left Briseis, guessing that she needed to sleep, but he heard nothing from within her room now, and so he put one hand out, and gently moved the door open. Inside, Briseis was sleeping in the centre of the large bed, curled up with a blanket wrapped around her, her tousled hair fanned out across the silk sheets.

Paris' heart went out to the girl as she lay there: she looked so young and innocent. Her face, illuminated by the golden glow of the rising sun, was placid and showing none of the pain of the night before. Paris hoped that she had found peace in sleep, for she seemed to have none in waking.

He moved into the room, closing the door behind him. The sound of it woke Briseis, who stirred, blinking sleepily and sitting up when she saw Paris was there.

"Sleep well?" Paris asked as he sat down on a chair beside the bed, knowing full well how feeble his words were.

Briseis shrugged. "Alright," she said, her voice small.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Paris offered, already knowing the answer he would receive, but needing to ask the question nonetheless.

Briseis shook her head. "No," she answered, but there was gratitude in her voice, and Paris knew that his rather pathetic efforts had been appreciated.

"Will you come to eat with the family?" Paris asked.

Uncertainty suddenly came onto the former priestesses face. "Will they have me?" she asked after a moment.

Paris understood her worry. By now Priam's large family would know that their cousin had been recovered, and would probably know too that she had come from the tent of the man who had killed their brother.

"You cannot be held to blame for anything that happened on the beaches," Paris told her earnestly. "They will rejoice that you have been brought back to them."

Briseis held Paris' gaze for a moment, before dropping her eyes. "I...I would rather be alone for a bit," she said softly.

"Briseis, they are glad that you have returned, no matter what has happened to you," Paris told her. His voice was gentle, but inside he was getting increasingly impatient with her. They had always been so close, and now, when she needed his love and support the most, she was blocking him out.

"I just want to be alone," Briseis repeated.

Paris sighed. "Alright," he said eventually. "Do you want me to send your maids?"

"No," Briseis said, her voice scarcely above a whisper. "I will dress myself."

Paris nodded, remembering how she had shied away from his touch the night before. "I will come back later and see how you are," he told her.

Briseis showed no signs of having heard him, and so Paris rose and made his way to the door. In the doorway he paused, glancing back at the girl who sat, huddled on the bed, the blankets pulled tightly around her. He sighed again, and then left, closing the door gently behind him.

Briseis made no move to get up after he had vacated her room. She sat in the middle of the large bed, her knees bent, and her arms hugging her legs tightly. She felt so out of place amid all the luxury and prosperity of Troy. It was as if she belonged in the rough comfort of Achilles' tent.

No! She thought sharply. She belonged here! She had been saved from the Greeks, and returned to her home. She had been nothing but a prize to Achilles, one that he would already have forgotten.