No One But You

Chapter Five :Behind These Hazel Eyes

'Here I am
Once again
I'm torn into pieces
Can't deny it
Can't pretend
Just thought you were the one
Broken up deep inside
But you won't get to see the tears I cry
Behind these hazel eyes'

Kelly Clarkson, 'Behind these Hazel Eyes'

Briseis woke as the pale morning light began to creep in through the windows in her room. She yawned sleepily, and, pushing the hair out of her eyes, pulled herself up to a sitting position. The sheets slipped off her body, exposing her skin to the cool morning air, and she shivered slightly. Never having been one to enjoy lounging around in bed after she had woken, Briseis pulled herself to her feet and wandered to the balcony to watch the city wake up.

If she tried hard enough, she could almost pretend that it was a few weeks earlier, and that she was going to spend the day at the temple, or talking with Andromache who was eagerly expecting the return of her husband from Sparta. She could pretend that she had not heard the name Helen, or even Achilles, and that her only worry was whether her hair looked best tied up or let loose.

She wandered through her room, plaiting and unplaiting her hair, her bare feet padding silently across the stone floor, and suddenly realised that she was hungry. It had been, quite literally, days since she had eaten, but in the bitter pain of first Patroculus' death, followed so quickly by that of Hector, and then her return to Troy, she had not felt anything but grief and sorrow.

As she thought about it, the memory of the last meal she had hit her so strongly that she sank down into a nearby chair. She could hear the gentle lapping of the waves, see the flickering torchlight, feel the warmth of Achilles' skin beside hers. She had been sitting on the sand outside Achilles' tent, the great warlord's arms around her, as he talked in soft and rich tones to Odysseus, punctuated by the eager and ever-ready voice of Patroculus. They had been eating a thick meaty stew, typical soldiers' food, mopping it up with crusty bread and Briseis suddenly felt an indescribable longing to return to that perfect evening, when she had leant back against Achilles' warm chest, dozing off to the sound of the men's reminiscent voices. The peace had lasted such a short time, but then, Briseis though bitterly, peace always did.

A tap came on the door, pulling Briseis away from that evening on the beach, and she rose to greet Paris as he entered. He smiled when he saw her, thinking that she looked better than she had yesterday.

"Will you come to eat with us this morning cousin?" he asked her in as normal a tone as he could manage.

Again, the awful fear of appearing before her family washed over Briseis, but she knew she had no excuse this time, having been at Hector's funeral the night before, besides, she was growing hungrier and hungrier by the minute, so she nodded, and was rewarded by a genuine smile from Paris, who was beginning to fear that she was going to try to starve herself.

"Good," he said, thankful that he would not have to force her to eat. "Shall I come and get in you once you are dressed?"

Again, Briseis nodded, and saw the relief in Paris' face.

"I will be back soon," he told her, leaving the room and closing the door quietly behind him.

Briseis wandered over to where her robes hung, looking at them, and longing to touch the soft white material, to return to the temple and forget about the man who had, at once, taught her to love and hate. But she jerked her hand sharply away from the material. It was what she would never be. Clean, pure, untainted. She could not live her life hiding from what had happened. She had to accept it. To move on and get on with her life. It would be a different life, admittedly, from what she had led before, but a life nonetheless.

And yet it was still the black dress that she took down and slipped over her shoulders. She walked back across the room towards the desk where pots of various creams and lotions stood, foisted on her by Andromache. She smiled fondly, picking them up and opening lids, smelling the familiar odours that seemed to come from another lifetime.